


Not That I'm In Love

by Waffle-o (XylB)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: At one point, Biker AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, FAHC, GTA Universe, Multi, Sex, everyone's a criminal, man I don't know how to tag this, oh man what do I tag, there's a lot of it, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 04:05:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11305314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/Waffle-o
Summary: A kind of biker FAHC AU that I've been working on for the last few months (Fun fact, this was finished in the first few days of June, but didn't have time with my computer while on holiday, so here it is now.)





	Not That I'm In Love

The kid tastes like cherry chapstick and Coca-Cola and Ryan already knows he won't be able to smell artificial cherry again without getting a boner.

The kid's also eager, pulling Ryan in tight and rocking easily into the thigh Ryan's shoved between his legs, where he can feel _just_ how much the kid's liking this.

“Wanna go back to my place?” Ryan asks between wet kisses, brushing his lips down the kid's scruffy jawline and squeezing his hips. The kid shakes his head and winds a hand in Ryan's hair.

“Then where?” Ryan asks, shamelessly scraping his teeth over the kid's jugular, where his pulse thuds hot underneath the skin – adrenaline and arousal and just the heat of the hallway they've snuck into in the back of the bar.

“Fuck me over your bike,” the kid says, bold and unhesitating. Ryan groans and nods, pulling away to lead the kid outside to where all their bikes are parked in the dark lot hidden behind the bar. Ryan's is in the far corner, hidden by shadow and the low wall around the street side of the car park.

Ray pulls out a packet of lube from his back pocket and a couple of condoms, pressing them into Ryan's hand as Ryan backs him up against the bike.

He lets Ryan bend him over the bike – maybe rougher than he needs to, but Ray doesn't complain, just balances himself as Ryan pulls down his jeans.

“Cherry?” Ryan asks as he's pouring lube onto his fingers, bringing them up to smell the strong, overly sweet scent. “You have cherry lube?”

“It was a variety pack,” Ray says, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “So were the condoms.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. He _definitely_ won't be able to smell cherry innocently again.

He fucks the kid over his bike with one hand on Ray's hip and the other on the handlebars to his right, steadying them as his thrusts rock the bike. The condom's ribbed, and it doesn't do much for Ryan but maybe it does something for Ray – maybe not, but he's groaning and pushing back encouragingly into Ryan's thrusts, so he's definitely enjoying it.

It's the first time he's actually done this with the kid – he's seen him at races, traded a few friendly words with him in the bar before Ray goes back to his friends – but other than that, he's done nothing. Except tonight, when the win gave him enough of a high to actually do something and he finally hit on Ray. Who was a lot more willing than he thought, and he fucking _lets_ Ryan push him around a bit, _lets_ him grip him bruisingly tight and fuck in with short, sharp snaps of his hips.

He plants a hand on Ray's back and lets go of the handlebars to reach around and jerk Ray off, making him moan and clench tight around him. Ray comes with a whine and all over the side of Ryan's bike, come dripping filthily down the black paint job and onto the dirty asphalt beneath them. It's one of the hotter things Ryan's ever done to this bike, and as Ryan chases his own orgasm, Ray spreads his legs wider and fucking _asks_ – _begs_ , in this hopelessly hot, breathy little moany voice – him to keep going.

Ray's whimpering low with oversensitivity when Ryan comes, shuddering hard and fisting the back of Ray's hoodie harder than he means to. Ray's legs start shaking while Ryan's catching his breath and he pulls out to let Ray collapse against the bike, settling his hands on his hips again to stop his knees from buckling – he smirks at the sight and feels a little thrill of pride run through him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ray hisses, panting hard and resting his head on his folded arm.

After they get cleaned up and dressed, Ray kisses Ryan again – the cherry's still there, but a lot fainter now – and pulls away with a quiet smack that makes Ryan's spine tingle.

“See you around,” Ray says, grinning as he plants a hand on Ryan's chest and pushes him back a step so he can slip by. Ryan doesn't get a chance to respond before Ray's walking away, running a hand through his hair and heading towards the back door of the bar.

–-

Someone's holding a checkered flag steady, waiting for the signal from the head honcho on the other side of the street who's waiting for the rest of the bets to roll in. Ray fits his helmet on and adjusts it as he glances over at Ryan, who flips his visor down and nods at him. Ryan revs his engine and again Ray's gaze is drawn to the sleek black bike, _Vagabond_ stamped on either side behind the seat in brilliant white. The word shudders with the engine vibration, impressive and menacing all at the same time.

Ray's bike is a lot less stylised – an unassuming brown with no details, but it's a fast bike and it handles whatever Ray tosses at it, so in his opinion it's a fantastic bike.

Just behind him and to his right is a red bike, big and armour modded with _Jones_ emblazoned on the side in tasteful cursive, bright gold against the red. Michael shouts something to Gavin, who's behind Ryan. He's got a ridiculously powerful bike, too powerful for a clumsy fuck like him, and it's a shiny, obnoxious gold, reflecting streetlights and headlights alike and just a general fucking beacon leading right to Gavin. He's got _GF_ on his centre cap bore, the only stylisation that survives each wreck he gets in.

Two spots behind Michael is Jeremy, in a garish purple and orange bike – Ray guesses his tactic is making a bike so ugly people will swerve out of the way just to avoid _seeing_ it – with an equally horrific purple and orange helmet. And he's got _Rimmy Tim_ printed on the side of it in silver, as if anyone would want to claim it as their own. It's slightly smaller than Ray's but it's got serious turbo that really packs a punch in the straightaways – Ray's been overtaken by it more than once.

Usually Jack would be beside Ryan, but he's not doing this race. He'll probably do one of the later ones – Ray'll have to remember to come watch. And Geoff's probably working the bar as he usually is – sometimes he races, but he tends to prefer cars, anyhow.

“Ready?!” The flag holder shouts, and they all start their engines and give him thumbs-ups – he glances over to the boss and a moment later starts the countdown.

“Three!”

Ray hunches his shoulders and hunkers down and sees Ryan do the same out of the corner of his visor.

“Two!”

Michael's engine growls behind him.

“One!”

A bright set of headlights turns on behind Ray, illuminating his dashboard.

“Go!”

Ray kicks off and it's an immediate crush of loud engines and amateurs trying to use their turbo too soon – wind whips past Ray's clothes and makes him almost numb but the threat of the green bike behind him keeps him steady. About half of the bikers fall off at the first turn, skidding out or crashing into each other, and Ray doesn't look back as he guns it down the straightaway, pulling even with Ryan.

The world narrows down to tunnel vision and all Ray focuses on is the turns, leaning easily into them and cutting through the icy wind with all the horsepower he's got. Ryan falls back a little but that's not going to last for long – Ray knows his tactics. There's two other bikers pulling up beside him, matching him swerve for swerve but, thankfully, not side-slamming him. The only rules are no weapons and no bike-slamming, but there's always someone who tries it. One memorable contestant put spikes sticking out from the centre of his wheels to cut up other bikes, but he disqualified himself almost immediately with a fiery crash that took him into hospital.

He hunches down more and glances behind him – there's a green bike swiftly catching up to him, but Ray's dealt with this fucker before.

He banks a sharp left at the end of the road and nearly skids out but recovers quick enough to shoot down the straightaway – the guy behind him tries a similar manoeuvre and spins out, his bike slipping out sideways from under him as he crashes hard to the ground on his side.

Ray knows there's at least two bikes in front of him – the taillights of one disappear around the next corner and another engine zooms up behind Ray – a flashy gold bike that he unfortunately recognises. Gavin doesn't try anything, just stays a good distance off to Ray's left and tries to speed past him. There's a large dent in the side of his bike that prevents him overtaking, probably hurting his engine, so Ray isn't worried – somehow Gavin always manages to damage his bike.

Ray races around Jack's corner – named so after Jack perfected the stunt jump from earlier in the race that lands you right on this last corner, a tricky shortcut that all but guarantees victory – and a hundred metres down a straightaway later, crosses the finish line, braking hard as he pulls to the side of the road. There's a small crowd around, cashing in bets and grumbling at their losses or high-fiving enthusiastically. Ray parks beside Ryan and dismounts as gracefully as he can – which isn't very gracefully at all – putting his helmet on his handlebars. Ryan's leaning casually against his bike, helmet already off and attached to the seat. Ryan raises an eyebrow and jerks his thumb behind him in invitation and Ray nods, meeting Ryan's smile with a grin as he follows him to the bar just next to the finish line.

The bar's loud and boisterous and Ray stops by the counter to grab a Coke – he politely greets Geoff and Jack as they serve him and Ryan. That's where he splits from Ryan, who grabs a stool to stay and talk as Ray waves him goodbye and heads towards the booth in the back where he knows the others should already be.

He only sees these people once or twice a week, and only after races, but Ray still comfortably slides in next to Michael and Jeremy and automatically high-fives them, cracking open his Coke. Gavin laughs loudly at something Jeremy says and Ray easily joins in on the conversation. It's still weird but nice to not have to hide anything – to the Los Santos underworld, he's known as BrownMan, gun for hire, but to these guys he's just Ray. They have no idea who he is and, similarly, he has no idea about them. For all he knows, Ryan works in IT or Gavin's a serial killer. But it's the sort of low-pressure social situations Ray likes – he'd hardly call these guys his friends, but they're funny and they like him and don't try to get him drunk. And they don't ask prying questions about anything important – Gavin'll quiz him about lube or Jeremy'll pester him about the shortcut in CoD, but no one says anything when Ray shows up with a black eye or a split lip aside from the initial “Nice shiner!” that Michael gives.

In a few hours he'll drive back home to his lame but not terrible flat on the outskirts of Los Santos and drown out the silence with TV or music while he goes through the painstaking work of cleaning his rifle – but for now he joins in on poking fun at Gavin and laughs at Jeremy's bad puns.

–-

Michael and Gavin and Jeremy also know how to have a pretty fun time. It's another race, a mid-week race this time, so there aren't as many people milling around afterwards and one of the back rooms is actually free – Michael pays for it with his betting money and Geoff takes it with a knowing smirk directed at Gavin.

Technically, drugs aren't allowed in the bar, but Geoff lets them get away with it. As long as they don't deal, he says.

“It's one of those pills,” Michael says, holding up the little baggie of bright blue, translucent pills.

“How strong are they?” Ray asks.

“It's just a high, nothin' bad,” Michael says, tipping them out into his palm and holding it out between the four of them.

“You sure?” Jeremy asks. “I don't wanna get fucked up for no reason.”

“Yeah, I'm sure – they're giving this shit to high schoolers, it's not bad,” Michael says. He pinches one pill between his fingers and Ray follows suit – Gavin grabs one and taps it against theirs with a stupid little “clink!” sound effect that makes them laugh. Jeremy's the last to pop one, and he chugs half his water to go with it.

“How long is it s'pposed to take?” Ray asks, leaning back in his chair. Michael shrugs.

“Few minutes.”

“Hey, d'you guys hear about the new Rainbow Six?” Jeremy asks, and that leads into a whole fucking conversation.

The drugs go kick in, five minutes later – not bad, like Michael said, and the high's not fuzzy and slow like weed but rather sharp and focusing like a laser beam. They all start feeling it around the same time and it derails the conversation into something else entirely. Ray's feeling more alert, more talkative, more willing to argue with Gavin, but they're also on the edge of hilarity apparently, because fucking _everything_ is funny and Michael can't hold back his hiccoughing little giggles.

And the conversation turns sexual – as it always does with them – and soon enough Gavin's trying to stretch a condom over his forearm while Ray laughs. He likes these guys. They're _fun_.

–-

Ray sometimes shares highs with Ryan, too, sitting on Ryan's bike in the back of the car park and passing a joint between them, occasionally smoking but usually shotgunning and Ryan waves the joint around as he talks, leaving smoke trails in the air that Ray brushes his fingers through while he nods and listens.

And after they're done talking, they're busy making out, half-smoked joint forgotten between Ray's fingers as he licks the taste of pot out of Ryan's mouth. He hasn't really ever spent this much time with Ryan, bar the occasional car park fuck they indulge in ever so often after Ryan approached him that first time, and Ray's discovering a whole lot about the guy. For example, he's willing to smoke up with Ray. And willing to blow him.

And, almost inevitably, while Ray flicks away the burnt stub of the joint, Ryan shifts to sink to his knees in front of Ray and easily undo his belt and fly, pupils black-blown with the high. Ray's attention is immediately hyperfocused on him, then, his gaze hot on him as Ryan swallows him down, his throat relaxed enough from the weed that he can take Ray deep in no time, slow and wet and messy just how he likes.

And afterwards, oh, _afterwards_ , just after Ryan wipes his mouth and stands back up, he picks an unused joint out of Ray's pocket and lights it with a quick flick of his fingers on his lighter, taking a slow drag and leaning in to press his lips to Ray's and breathe it right back into him, sweet and unhurried like Ryan always is. Ray pulls him closer to kiss him deeper and this time he's licking the taste of his own come out of Ryan's mouth, too, a bitter contrast to the weed but thrilling in an entirely different way as Ryan kisses him back.

And they'll take a few more hits and a few more lazy kisses before it's Ray's turn to get Ryan off and he works a hand into the hot trap of Ryan's jeans to jack him off, tight grip and slow strokes to make Ryan fidget and dig his fingers impatiently into Ray's skin. Sometimes he leaves marks. Ray gladly takes them as the reminders they are.

–-

The thing about bullets is that there's never enough when you need them.

There's plenty flying over Ray's head but none of them usable, embedded into rotting wood and threatening to take down the entire building.

Ray unpins one of his smoke grenades and tosses it down the hallway – he hears a click, _bang_ , and the hiss of smoke as it fills the corridor, his shooters coughing and swearing loudly. The guns are still firing, though, but their aim is off and too high now, so Ray gathers up his two last smoke grenades and fits them in his palms as he crouch-walks out from behind his box and darts into the perpendicular hallway, sprinting towards the dirty glass window at the end of it. Behind him there's yelling and moving and Ray tosses one grenade to free up his hand so he can grab the assault rifle at his hip and smash the glass with the butt of it in two hard swings, knocking out the sharp debris with the barrel.

Bullets start again and Ray ducks, twisting to shoot back as he unpins his final smoke bomb and launches it at a guy's face – even through the thick smoke Ray can see his nose explode in a spray of red as he goes down.

The firing stops for a second and Ray takes his chance, pushing himself through the window – the glass shards cut through his sleeves and rake painful lines down his biceps – landing hard on his his feet on the ground in the grimy alleyway he stashed his bike in.

And there it is, at the end, smooth and undamaged, but Ray has no doubt his pursuers will fix that for him. In the street he hears a souped-up SUV rev its engine.

Good thing he just got that turbo.

–-

Ryan finds one of Ray's variety lube packets in the small compartment he fitted under the dash – there's a pistol hidden on the underside of the top of it, taped over with black to disguise it, and at the bottom, smack in the middle, is a bright green foil square. Ryan chuckles and puts down his polishing rag to inspect it, looking for a hint as to what flavour it is. If there's anything he's learnt from his time with Ray, the kid's got an unusual stash of flavours. Last time it was blackberry – a bit too bitter for Ryan's taste, but worked just fine.

Ryan tears open a little sliver and sniffs it – he wrinkles his nose at the sharp mint that comes through, shaking his head as he puts it down on the table by his hip. Yeah, he's not a mint fan.

The smell lingers on his fingers for a few minutes afterwards but the stench of oil and gas replaces it, heavy and thick in Ryan's throat as he cleans his bike. Part of the skull on his helmet got scraped away, so he'll have to get that repainted, and there's more scuff marks on the sides of his bike. He frowns at the scratched paint and rubs away the dirt, humming under his breath as he works.

He takes a break to check his phone and get a snack, scrolling through texts and emails as he munches on a sandwich.

 _You ever heard of Mogar?_ Is all the first text says, and it gets immediately deleted. Ryan doesn't care if it's a burner phone on the other end – he doesn't take jobs if there's evidence, even through a text. Face to face, that's how he deals.

 _Got something. Pier._ This one Ryan considers for a moment – he knows the number, he knows who he'd be meeting at the pier – and keeps the message.

There's a few emails about the car he's got in service and another two from potential employers – he trashes one because it says his name – _hey Mad King, heard you could use another job_ – and saves the second one for later.

He closes his phone and gets back to his bike – if he's going to race this weekend, he'll need to fix his bent spokes first.

–-

It's not always Ryan. Sometimes it's a hook-up Ray pulls from the bar after a race, when Michael and Gavin have gone home and Jeremy's making friends with the other racers.

This time it's a girl named Alice he's pinning against the wall – he kinds of knows her, not from interaction but just from recognition, seeing her in races, sometimes racing against her electric blue bike – and she's unzipping his hoodie as he starts making his way down her neck. She takes one of his hands and slides it under her top to her chest – Ray takes the hint and brushes his fingers over her nipple to hear her gasp and grins into her skin.

Alice's bold enough to press her hand against his crotch, squeezing encouragingly and making him buck into her, groaning at the friction. And because it's a quick backroom fuck, it's almost no time at all before Ray's got his fingers between her legs, slipping past her underwear to rub against her clit and slide against where she's wet and hot for him.

There's a bed in the room, but they haven't gotten to it and Alice doesn't suggest they do, not even when Ray's undoing her jeans and shoving them down, following them with himself as he drops to his knees.

“Oh fuck, Ray,” she says when he crowds in between her thighs – she bends slightly to help him and Ray presses a line of kisses up to the edge of her panties, already halfway down her ass from the drag of the jeans. She swears again and slides a hand into Ray's hair, curling her fingers into the short strands when he nods up at her. He gets the underwear down too, planting a hand on one plush thigh to hold her legs open. There's a lightning bolt trimmed into shape just above her clit and Ray laughs softly as he presses a kiss to it, glancing up to see Alice's crooked smile.

“You like it?” She asks, and Ray laughs again, nodding as he brushes his lips against her again, catching the wet nub of her clit on his lower lip.

“Impressive,” he murmurs, pitching his voice low so it vibrates between them – Alice's breath hitches and Ray grins as her thigh muscles jump under his hand at the next press of his mouth.

He licks into her with broad swipes of his tongue, working her clit with one thumb while his other hand slips a finger in and comes out _soaked_ – Alice moans quietly and her other hand appears to tell Ray to rub in faster circles around her clit. And it's not long at all before he's got two fingers twisted up in her, licking at the slick leaking around them and brushing his tongue lightly over her clit as he pumps them in and out, curling them to try and find the right spot. Alice groans when he hits it and he makes sure to focus on it, licking and sucking as Alice's thighs tremble around him and her hand tightens in his hair.

She comes with a muffled moan and a sharp buck as she fucks herself down on his fingers, suddenly a whole lot wetter than she was before and it slicks up Ray's knuckles. The sound of his fingers in her is hotly obscene now, wet and loud and making him twitch in his jeans. Alice swears and Ray keeps his fingers still as he works on her clit, pressing down slightly harder and licking over it until she shudders and comes again, gasping his name and clenching wildly around his fingers. The round curve of her abdomen rises and falls in quick tempo with her breaths, short and choppy with Ray's name occasionally mixed in there.

“Fuck,” Ray pants, pulling away to slide his fingers out and work open his own jeans, lifting his hand to slick her come onto his palm before wrapping it around himself and stroking. Alice drops her other hand to help bring herself off again since Ray's other hand became useless and Ray contributes clumsily with his mouth as he jerks himself off. He's close as fuck already just from eating Alice out, surrounded by her noises and her scent and he comes with a choked moan over his fist, his breath hitching erratically as he rests his head against Alice's hip. She makes a small, pained sound and he shakily brings up his clean hand to rub against her hole, dipping in as a tease and pressing over that spot to make her come again, whimpering slightly and leaking over his knuckles.

“Shit,” Alice says as Ray pulls away, wiping his own come onto his jeans and zipping himself up. Alice's inner thighs are wet where Ray got a little messy – he wipes his chin on his sleeve and his hands on his jeans before pulling up Alice's clothes.

He stands up and leans in to kiss her again, hot and lazy and amazing, as she comes down.

“That was not what I was expecting,” Alice says, planting a hand on his chest but not pushing him away.

“I don't have a condom,” Ray admits with a shrug, and Alice laughs, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He didn't realise until he was actually making out with her against the wall that he was out – he guesses his stint with Ryan two days ago used his last one – so hey, this was the alternative.

“It was great,” she says with a wide smile. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Yeah, well, you know where to find me,” Ray replies with a similar smile. She kisses him again and Ray curls his hands around her hips, pressing his fingers into soft skin as she licks the taste of herself out of his mouth.

–-

Ryan hums to himself as he rounds the corner to the street he parked his car on – and stops dead in his tracks when he sees his car, the windows foggy with... _something_. He frowns and walks towards it, placing a hand over the knife hilt hidden inside his jacket as he bends down to open the back door.

“I was wondering when you'd get here,” Ray says from his sprawl across the backseats, lazily blowing out a curl of smoke through his nose. It's humid and muggy inside the car, sweet with a familiar scent that Ryan's come to associate with Ray.

“Are you hotboxing my car?” He asks, dropping his hand to rest it on a headrest.

“Why not?” Ray says, sliding one foot down to plant it on the floor, spreading his legs wide enough that Ryan knows he can fit between them. “Wanna join?” He continues, smirking. Ryan bites the inside of his cheek, debating for only a moment before he climbs in, closing the door behind him before shuffling into a more comfortable position. It's hot inside the car, the air thick with smoke and the smell of weed, and the first thing Ryan does is shuck his leather jacket, letting his T-shirt stick to his back with the beginnings of sweat as he braces himself over Ray, comfortably bracketed by his legs.

Ray grins – _cat that got the cream_ – and takes another drag as Ryan drops his head to scrape his teeth along the sweaty curve of Ray's throat, smooth and tempting under him. Ray's palm cups the back of his skull and guides him back up so he can breathe smoke into Ryan's mouth, chasing the sharp sweet of pot with the warmth of his tongue.

Sometimes Ryan wonders about Ray, his background, his life. So far his best guess is high school dropout with too much time on his hands and probably trying to fill that mid-twenty boredom with, it seems, drugs and sex. Ryan sometimes wonders how Ray would react if he knew Ryan was the one on the news – _Mad King strikes again_ – and he wonders if Ray knows how deep into the criminal underworld he is with these races.

And sometimes Ryan's content to just follow Ray's lead and help him out with the drugs and sex, turning lazy shotgunning into hot, insistent kisses that only end up with the car rocking on its wheels, windows damp with condensation.

–-

A stupid bet leads to Ray shotgunning soda with Jeremy, tilting his head back as Coke shoots into his mouth and almost painfully down his throat – Jeremy's using beer and doing it a lot neater than Ray because he clearly has experience. Ray kind of missed out on the whole drunk-cool thing. Anyway, first to five wins.

He slams down his can and reaches for another, wiping away the sticky residue on his chin as he stabs a hole in the bottom with Geoff's pen and lifts it to his mouth. Jeremy chokes and spit-takes all over the table next to him just as Ray's halfway through this can and Michael and Gavin laugh uproariously, patting Jeremy on the back as he coughs and tries to go again.

Geoff gives some commentary when he comes over with a bar towel but Ray doesn't hear it over his own gulping, trading his fourth can out for a fifth and puncturing it as Jeremy finishes his fourth. He catches Ray's eye as they drink and Ray slams his fifth down seconds before Jeremy – almost a photo finish. Michael and Gavin cheer and Jeremy groans, congratulating him as he wipes his mouth.

“Man, I am – I'm drunk as _fuck_ right now,” Jeremy says, grabbing the water bottle in the middle of the table and chugging it. Gavin giggles and slides a couple of bills over to Ray with his good hand. He broke his left arm last week in a bad accident and now he's stuck in a sling and cast, unable to race but he still comes to hang out with them. He places some bets, too - “gotta do somethin' with the time, haven't I?” - and they discover that he's either sucking off Fortuna or he's really good at hustling. Either way, it gets him money and gets them drinks, so Ray's not complaining as long as Gavin doesn't try to fuck him over.

“I mean, I'm sure Geoff can help you out with that,” Ray says to Jeremy, laughing at Jeremy's answering groan as he waves him off.

“No, no, don't you _dare_ , Ray,” he warns, glaring ineffectively. “I don't want to wake up with the fucking hangover from hell.”

Geoff's shameless about plying them with alcohol – or Ray with whatever ridiculous mocktail he just created – and as Michael starts to call him over Jeremy hangs his head in his hands and Ray and Gavin just laugh because they know that Jeremy's about to get _fucked up_.

“What can I do you for?” Geoff asks as he comes over, planting his hands on the table and looking around.

“About fifty dollars,” Ray says quickly.

“Maybe I'll take you up on that,” Geoff says with a wink.

“Lil J here just shotgunned his way through five cans,” Michael says, grinning slyly.

“Shots,” Geoff says with a decisive nod before Michael can even ask, going back to the bar before anyone can say another word.

“I _hate_ you guys,” Jeremy moans into his palms.

“Sure you do,” Michael replies, smiling smugly as he rubs Jeremy's shoulder.

–-

Ray's waiting on his bike when Ryan goes out back, heading towards the corner he always parks in and stopping a foot in front of Ray, raising an eyebrow. Ray gives him a once-over and Ryan tucks his keys away, stepping forward to settle his hands on Ray's hips and kiss him – Ray sits up a little and Ryan fits his hands around Ray's waist, pressing his fingers into the warmth he can feel through the hoodie.

Ray takes one of his hands and guides it up to the zipper of his hoodie, leaving it there to curl his fingers through Ryan's belt loops again. Ryan unzips it while he licks the taste of cherry off of Ray's lips.

As he reaches the end of the zip he pulls away to look down – the hoodie falls open and Ray's not wearing a shirt. But down where his jeans ride low, Ryan can see pink straps over his hips, two on each one, disappearing under his waistband.

“Fuck,” Ryan breathes, undoing Ray's belt to shove his jeans down more and see the panties, pink and out of place but wonderfully pretty against Ray's skin.

“Kinky motherfucker,” Ray mumbles, flushing slightly as he pulls Ryan in for a hard kiss. Ryan drops his hand to touch the panties – the ones he balled up and shoved into Ray's pocket last week ( _Wear these for me next time?_ ) before letting him go – and they're soft and smooth under his fingertips, stretched around Ray's cock and damp where he's leaking. Ray shifts to stand and pulls Ryan's hand around to his ass, silently telling him where exactly to slide his hand.

Ryan slides his hand down the back of Ray's jeans, shamelessly dragging his fingers down near Ray's hole and he freezes when he feels something – Ray gasps as Ryan pulls the panties aside to prod around the base of the butt plug, a soft, firm silicone that fits neatly in Ryan's grip. And _god_ , Ryan didn't even _ask_ for this and just the _thought_ of Ray prepping like this gets Ryan shamefully hot under the collar.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pressing against it to make Ray whimper, hands flying up to clutch Ryan's arms. “Did you have this on during the race?”

“Yeah,” Ray says, shuddering again and it's suddenly crystal clear how turned on he must be, all the preparation he did _for Ryan_. Ryan's head spins with the hotness of it all and he presses on the base of the plug again, roughly pushing Ray's jeans all the way down and cupping his crotch again, letting him buck up impatiently.

Ray flips over without even a suggestion, bracing himself on Ryan's bike and spreading his legs as Ryan rubs his palm over Ray's ass, enjoying the smooth slide of the fabric against his hand and, later, his dick as he fumbles a lube packet and condom out of Ray's jeans. This time it's lemon flavoured – a little weird, but Ryan'll take it – and Ryan balances it on Ray's lower back as he pulls the panties aside to play with the plug, twisting it and pulling it out slow enough that Ray moans and shakes. Lube drips down as Ryan pulls the entire thing out, carelessly dropping it on the ground as he replaces it with his fingers, corkscrewing them in to force a groan out of Ray.

Once Ryan actually gets _in_ Ray – the packet tells him the condom's glow in the dark – it's over way too quick, fast and hard just like Ray asks for – _begs_ for – his nails digging into the leather of Ryan's bike seat as Ryan fucks him right over it.

Ryan comes before Ray for the first time, shuddering as he buries himself in tight heat, the lace fringe of the panties brushing teasingly against him. Ray pants heavily beneath him and Ryan leans over to plant sloppy kisses up the back of his neck as he palms him, jacking him over the fabric and pressing filthy, muttered praise into his skin. Ray comes with a sharp moan and a sudden jerk of his hips, shooting hot into the panties, into Ryan's palm, and Ryan keeps going until the kid's eyes are wet with oversensitivity – he still doesn't push Ryan away, not even when his whimpers turn pained and quiet. Ryan slows down anyway, rubbing lazy circles to match the idle grinding of his hips as he softens, working out a few more noises from Ray before he pulls back to pull out.

He can't quite stop fingering the edge of the panties when Ray's sitting on his bike again, jeans still around his knees but the rest of him's in relative order as he kisses Ryan.

“You want them back?” Ray asks, a knowing glint in his eye. Ryan bites his lip and brushes his fingers over the wet spot again, the fabric soaked through and the pink stained dark.

“Then you'd have nothing to wear,” Ryan says, gesturing to Ray's jeans.

“I guess you'll have to get me more, then, won't you?” Ray replies, smirking at Ryan's hitch of breath as he tugs him back down.

–-

Someone slams into Ray on the fourth corner – he skids out violently, gravel kicking up all around him as he frantically tries to yank the handlebars and counter-balance – but his back wheel slips and he crashes hard to the concrete. He hears something snap and pain blooms along his ribs, bright bursts that make breathing a lot more difficult than it needs to be. His bike crushes his leg but it doesn't feel like anything's broken down there – Ray turns painfully onto his back and tentatively places his hand on his chest just to measure his breathing as he looks out at the street. A wave of bikes goes past – among them is Gavin's flashy bike, gleaming in the harsh streetlights, and just in front of him is Jeremy, a purple blur in Ray's peripheral.

Ray inhales painfully and wheezes on the exhale, trying to calm his adrenaline as Jack jogs towards him with another guy Ray doesn't recognise.

“Hey,” he croaks when they approach. Jack rolls his eyes and kneels down to inspect the damage as the other guy moves Ray's bike.

“Can you walk?” Jack asks, gently pulling off Ray's helmet before pressing his hands over Ray's ribs to assess him. Ray nods and they starts the agonising process of standing him up – Jack's arm strong around his waist and the other guy gripping his arm as they slowly make their way to the alleyway that leads back to the bar.

Bikes whiz by again, quick flashes of colour and noise that only leave echoes when they disappear from sight.

Back at the bar, Jack sets Ray up in a backroom and helps tape up his broken ribs, putting ice packs on to help the swelling. It's his only injury, according to Jack and the other guy – Matt, he's learnt – and Jack lets him stay in the backroom while he returns to front of house.

Ray groans and adjusts his ice packs as he rests his head against the pillows, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Engines roar outside. It's going to run him broke to fix his bike after that – he's hoping he didn't damage it too much, and if he did, that his next job pays off well enough to take care of it.

“We saw what happened!” Michael says as he bursts in, tossing his helmet to the floor as Gavin and Jeremy follow him in. “You ate _shit_ , Ray.”

“Thanks,” Ray says, and Gavin laughs, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Thought for sure you were a goner,” Jeremy says.

“Someone's gotta take care of your drunk asses,” Ray replies, smiling at Jeremy's offended gasp.

“Your bike is seriously fucked, too, man,” Michael adds. “That fucker better pay for it.”

Ray groans and closes his eyes. “How bad is it?”

“It's practically ruined on one side,” Gavin says. “Big huge gash right down it.”

“Maybe this time you'll get a better paint job.”

“Fuck you, Michael.”

–-

Ray gets hired for a drug deal to act as muscle – his ribs still ache but they're healing nicely, according to Matt – and is immediately assigned to the back corner of the room. All black, he was instructed, so here he is, head to toe, in black. In Los Santos. In summer. He's got his white mask on and hood up to hide his face a little better so he can spy more openly on the people in the room. 

In the other corner is another hired thug – Mogar. Ray hasn't worked with him before, only heard the same stories everyone does down the grapevine. The guy's wearing a red hockey mask and a heavy leather jacket with a wolf embroidered on the back. He's about the same height as Ray but he's got the muscle Ray hasn't – and if the rumours are true, some mean punches – but he's still got an SMG slung over his back like Ray.

There's a brief argument between the dealers and when the other side starts getting defensive, Ray and Mogar brandish their weapons and tensions die down real quick after that.

Other than that, the deal goes off hitch-free and Ray gets a pretty good cut from it.

–-

Ryan works, briefly, with a tiresome hacker whose chat name is _GoldenPussy_. According to Ryan's source, the guy – or girl, who _ever_ – is a pretty great hack, but what Ryan's source _didn't_ tell him is that the hacker has the bubbly personality of a preteen.

Ryan's just using them to get some info from the LSPD HQ – something he could probably do himself with enough time, but the assassination opportunity is on Saturday and he hasn't got time.

> _you'll send them to L?_

_yeah sure_

_what do you think about fountain pens?_

Ryan's eyebrows knit and he hesitantly replies.

> _Fountain pens?_

_yeah_

> _What about them?_

_they're fancy and cool and whatnot_

_should I get one?_

> _Sure_

_would it make me cooler?_

> _Probably not_

_you don't know that_

> _Test it out_

_okay_

_I'll let you know how it goes_

Ryan sighs and scrubs a hand down his face as the hacker leaves the chat with that terrible promise of _speaking_ to him again. Ryan has no idea how they got such a good reputation, but he's hoping it pays off.

–-

Ray gets a contract for the Mad King and takes it with a shrug – there's no time constraint, just the bounty, but there's really no way to find the Mad King, so Ray just hopes he'll spot him when the King rolls back in town. He's been quiet lately, anyway.

He manages to get his bike fixed and joins the first race he can – last-minute, literal seconds before the spots closed – and Ryan's surprise is almost palpable when Ray pulls up beside him at the starting line-up.

“Miss me?” He asks afterwards, while he's perched on Ryan's bike in the car park.

“Eh,” Ryan says with a flippant shrug, his hands warm and familiar on Ray's hips. “Not really.”

“Liar.”

“Prove it.”

–-

Ray catches wind of a high-stakes contract downtown and snags it from a secondhand buyer before even reading the details.

After he reads the details, he only slightly regrets that.

Still, he can pull it off. He's done worse.

–-

Ray sets up in a building across from the target – he doesn't know how many other contracts are out on this guy, and more contracts means more hires, more hires means more enemies for Ray, so in a move as ballsy as it is stupid, he chooses a tiny office bathroom window and aims across a five-lane street into a skyscraper with lightly tinted windows right where he _thinks_ the guy's head'll appear.

It's a long shot. But Ray's confident he can make it.

The guy's head pops up ten minutes later. As soon as Ray shoots – and kills him – gunfire sprays his window and he ducks as it shatters the tiles loudly behind him – ceramic crashes noisily to the floor, almost drowning out the shouting outside. More gunfire hails through the window and into the ceiling – looks like people were waiting for him – and Ray hurriedly packs up swinging his rifle strap over his chest as he backs up to run through the quiet carpeted hallways to reach one of his exits. Footsteps thunder up the stairs, terrifyingly loud and terrifyingly close, and Ray swears as he lets himself into the staircase, coming face-to-face with the two guys running up to him.

There's a split second of shock before one guy raises his arm to punch and Ray kicks him in the chest, sending him crashing heavily down the stairs as his friend lifts his guns to shoot. Ray ducks the first bullet and narrowly avoids the next as he rushes down the stairs, fumbling his pistol out of the back of his jeans as the guy yells into an earpiece behind him.

Ray bursts into the street and immediately dashes to the left to avoid the spray of bullets that hit the door behind him, shooting shakily to mess them up more than kill as he sprints past the five guys surrounding him and gunning it for the alley – fuck, it's either an ambush or someone put out a contract on him – where his bike is.

He speeds out of the alley and turns right – and nearly crashes head-on into a big black Jeep – two guys pop out of the windows with guns and Ray almost spins out with his sharp turn, his wheels squealing loudly against the asphalt as he miraculously avoids bullets, zig-zagging down the street with the Jeep in hot pursuit.

The roar of engines almost drowns out Ray's harsh panting – he drops his empty pistol clip and reloads it one-handed, clicking the safety off and twisting to shoot at the tyres. He weaves dangerously through civilian traffic to try and lose them, turning left to break into the wide avenue along Vespucci Beach – less cars but more pedestrians – to hopefully make it up into the hills and lose them off-road.

Ray turns and shoots as soon as he hears the engine again and he gets a front tyre – the Jeep fishtails and spins out and Ray grins triumphantly as he turns back to the road. With that kind of delay, he can definitely get away.

He glances back again to see the crash and his smile falls as he sees someone pull out a grenade launcher, hefting it on his shoulder and aiming straight at Ray.

Ray wastes no time unloading a whole clip in his direction, glancing in front of him to make sure he's not driving into walls, and he leans into a harsh right turn as something explodes behind him – he catches a glimpse of the Jeep in flames and hunches low as he focuses on getting to a safe spot.

He knows there's a block of abandoned warehouses up near the valley, so he heads there to hide out until the heat dies down. The area looks empty – no vehicles, no people – when he arrives, so Ray parks his bike in a shadowy corner and covers it with a tarp previously laying on some crates before he jimmies the lock on a side door to let himself in.

Ray freezes mid-step when he hears voices, quietly closing the door behind him and pressing himself flat to a stack of metal crates, inching along to peek around the edge, empty pistol dangling in his grip.

There's a guy tied to a metal chair – a cop, judging by the uniform – bloody and beaten but alive, breathing raggedly through a clearly busted nose, and standing in front of him, back to Ray, is – oh _shit_ – is none other than the Mad King himself, unless there's another broad-shouldered fuck with a skull mask and that leather jacket running around. Oh _shit_.

He hasn't seen or heard Ray yet, apparently. Ray glances down at his pistol and carefully tucks it away, retreating into his hiding spot to silently swing his rifle up and off, cradling the butt in the crook of his elbow.

Ray peeks around the corner again, bringing up the rifle to aim at the Mad King's head. He takes a moment to absorb the scene – the Mad King's got a pistol in one hand and brass knuckles on the other, blood dripping menacingly off of them to the floor while he talks in a low voice to the cop. Ray can't quite hear him from here.

Ray hefts the rifle up – not the ideal weapon for this situation, but it'll do – and hopes the click of the safety doesn't draw the King's attention. He sucks in a slow breath and holds it as he steadies the shot, readying his finger on the trigger and leaning against the box to help keep it straight.

He clicks the safety off and the Mad King whips around to point a pistol in his direction, aiming it straight at his forehead when he sees Ray. Ray swallows thickly and doesn't back down, keeping his rifle firmly aimed at the King's head. It's a tense standoff for a minute or two – Ray's got fast reflexes, but he knows the Mad King does, too. He's infamous for the way he handles a knife, and Ray's willing to bet he's pretty fucking decent with just a pistol, too.

Ray flexes his fingers against his rifle and shifts his foot to stand more comfortably, the slide of it loud in the quiet warehouse. The cop stares at them with wide eyes, flicking between them like a ping pong match. The pistol is unwavering, the barrel and the Mad King's shadowed eyes staring Ray down for a long, tense moment.

Then, unexpectedly, Mad King tilts his head slightly, like he's about to say something.

“Ray?” He asks, and Ray forgets how to breathe for a second because that's – that's -

“Ryan?” The Mad King – _Ryan_ – growls and turns to shoot the cop in the head – Ray's too focused on Ryan to see the brain splatter.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ryan asks, lowering the pistol and facing Ray again.

“I – uh - “ Ray says, intelligently. Ryan cocks his head again and his eyes flick down to the rifle in Ray's hands, now just pointing at the ground.

“Aren't you a little young for that?” Ryan asks.

Ray glances down at the rifle and back at Ryan. “Fuck you, I'm twenty-seven.” He swings the rifle onto his back and steps out of the shadows, reaching up to untie his mask. He stuffs it into a pocket and rolls his shoulders to settle the rifle more comfortably against his shoulder blades.

“Are you a copycat?” Ryan asks, looking him up and down.

“A copycat?” Ray frowns and looks down at himself – with a tinge of dismay, he notices there's new black stains smeared over his Vans. “Of?”

“BrownMan,” Ryan says, like it's obvious. “Y'know, the sniper?”

“I - “ Ray's head jerks back a little and he stares at Ryan, his eyebrows knitting together again. “I _am_ BrownMan.”

“Fucking liar,” Ryan replies, crossing his arms.

“I'll fucking shoot you, you motherfucker, I've got a fucking contract on you,” Ray threatens, not very seriously, but he makes a show of reaching for his pistol anyway. Ryan laughs and Ray smiles, dropping his hand.

“I can't fucking believe it,” Ryan says, uncrossing his arms to tuck his hands into his pockets. “I've been racing against _BrownMan_.”

“Look who's fucking talking,” Ray says. “I was, like, 90% sure you were a civilian.”

Ryan laughs harder. “And the other ten?”

Ray shrugs. “A masked criminal called the Mad King who tortures cops in empty warehouses.”

“Pretty close.”

Ray cocks and eyebrow in a question as Ryan steps closer, stopping just out of arm's reach.

“What am I missing?” Ray asks. “Masked criminal who tortures cops and insults one of the most dangerous snipers in the city?”

Ryan chuckles and his gaze flicks down to Ray's hands and back to his face.

“Masked criminal who tortures cops and wants to kiss one of the most dangerous snipers in the city,” Ryan corrects, stepping into Ray's space now. “What d'you say about that?”

“Not with the mask on,” Ray says, and Ryan laughs as he lifts a hand to tug it off, letting it dangle from his fingers as he settles his hands on Ray's hips and leans in to press their mouths together. Ray reaches up to cross his wrists behind Ryan's neck and lets Ryan walk him backwards to press against the crates. 

“Still going with the contract?” Ryan asks a few moments later in the hot, damp space between their mouths, his lips catching against Ray's.

“Convince me not to,” Ray says, and Ryan laughs and pulls him closer.

–-

Ray spots Ryan in the bar after a race, sitting on a barstool and talking to Jack. So instead of ordering his drink from one of the assistant bartenders, he purposely sidles up to Ryan, leaning on his elbows on the bar and deliberately ignoring him as he flashes a smile at Jack.

“Ray!” Jack says delightedly. “How're the ribs?”

“They're fine – thanks for the patch.”

Jack waves him off with one hand and shakes his head. “No problem. Now let me guess, Coke?”

“Yeah, please. Oh, and Gavin wanted a – uh - “ Ray pulls out his phone to see what he wrote down - “ - I can't even fucking spell it – a Sandia Pulque?”

Jack sighs and rolls his eyes. “Fucking Gavin. Okay, I'll give it a try.”

“Thanks,” Ray says with an apologetic smile as Jack goes to get the drinks. Then he turns his head to look at Ryan. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Ryan smiles and sips his drink. “You come here often?”

Ray laughs. “Often enough. What're you drinking?”

Ryan peers down at his glass of fizzy brown and back at Ray. “Diet Coke.”

“Weird.”

“You're weird.”

Ray shrugs and looks back at the wall of liquor behind the bar. “You got me there.” He deliberately pushes himself up to standing again and stretches his arms above his head in that way that makes the hem of his hoodie ride up – and his jeans are riding low tonight. Judging by Ryan's quiet hitch of breath, he's seen what Ray wants him to.

Ray looks back at him as he leans against the bar again, smirking at the slight surprise on Ryan's face. He scoots closer and Ryan reaches out to slip his fingertips just under Ray's hoodie, running them over the lace edge rising barely above Ray's jeans. He snaps them lightly against Ray's hip and traces over the waistband of them with warm presses of his fingers. The touch makes Ray shiver.

“Thanks,” he says again when Jack returns with a can of Coke and a “I think this is right” Sandy Plucky or whatever the fuck Gavin ordered. Ryan's fingers slip away and Ray winks at him before he leaves.

–-

Later, Ryan fucks him into a moaning mess over the bike, the panties still on because Ryan's _kinky_ like that, just pulls them to the side as he works Ray open with the strawberry lube and fits a wide palm over the spur of his hipbone. The condom's got fucking – _bumps_ on it this time, which are weird but not unpleasant, and the thick scent of strawberry is sweet and cloying around them as the bike rocks.

Ryan also can't keep his damn hands _off_ the panties – green this time, dark but not dark enough to hide the wet spot Ray's making in the front.

They've also got a slight skirt on them, and Ryan says it's because he couldn't find the colour in another style, but Ray thinks that's a fucking lie.

Afterwards, while he's trying to get his legs to work again and trying to remember what words are, he pulls up his jeans but leaves them undone as he turns around to sit down on the bike, letting Ryan crowd in between them and kiss him. Ray's taken to using the cherry chapstick on race days – he rarely uses the stuff, but he's noticed that Ryan seems especially fond of it, licking eagerly into Ray's mouth and noticeably not wiping his lips afterwards like most people do when they get someone else's chapstick on them.

Ryan's fingers are still playing with the skirt when he pulls away from Ray's lips to catch his breath, glancing down at his hands as he smooths a palm over the fabric over Ray's hip.

“I'm starting to think you've got a schoolgirl fetish,” Ray jokes, his wrists still hooked behind Ryan's neck. Ryan stays tellingly silent. “Oh my god, you do.”

“I've got a _you_ fetish,” Ryan says, smiling at Ray's eye roll.

–-

“Gold.”

“Pink.”

“Purple.”

“Chrome.”

“Re – chrome? What the fuck, Michael?” Jeremy looks almost offended as he leans away from Michael, giving him a hard stink-eye. “It's a _gun_ , not a bike.”

“Still.” Michael shrugs and curls a hand around his drink again. “Chrome's cool.”

“Chrome's ugly.”

“You're ugly.”

“Michael, why are you so mean?” Jeremy asks, stern façade breaking with a laugh. “What did I do to deserve that?”

“Eh, I dunno,” Michael says with a grin. “I felt like it.”

“I think you're lovely, Lil J,” Gavin says.

“Thank you, Gavin.”

“Can you stop sucking each other's dicks and get back to the colour?” Geoff asks, gesturing at the gun lying under Gavin's hand. “I don't trust this fucker with a gun, so I want it bright pink so I know where the fuck he is.”

“Smart,” Ray comments, stirring his Coke with a drink umbrella Jack popped in there.

“Yeah, that's smart,” Jeremy says, “Get a bright colour.”

“I already said gold!” Gavin protests, waving his other hand around. “You asked what colour I was going to paint it and I said gold and then you all said no!”

“We didn't say no, we just said different colours,” Ray says, laughing at Gavin's exasperated noise.

“I mean, he's right, we didn't say no,” Michael adds.

“I'm saying no!” Geoff exclaims, his voice pitching high at the end. “Bright pink, end of discussion.”

“Gold's bright!”

“Gold's a douchebag colour, _asshole_.”

“Why am _I_ the arsehole?!”

“He's got a gun, Geoff, I wouldn't cross him,” Ray points out.

“Because you're the asshole who crashes his fucking bike all the time!” Geoff shouts, steamrolling over Ray's warning and pointing at the gun. “You're a fucking liability with that!”

“It's more pistols than _you_ have,” Gavin retorts, and Michael and Ray bust into laughter.

“I wouldn't bet on that,” Michael says through his snickering.

“What d'you mean?” Gavin asks, and Geoff immediately mimics it.

“Come on, look at where we are!” Michael says, gesturing to the bar and the crowd in it. “You're probably the only one _without_ a gun until now.”

“What, do you guys carry guns?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Michael, Ray, Jeremy, and Geoff all say at the same time. Gavin looks extremely puzzled and Jeremy breaks into howling laughter at the sight.

“ _Really_?” Gavin asks, incredibly surprised.

“What the _fuck_ , Gavin?” Michael asks, hiccoughing into his fist. “God, you'd probably already be dead if it wasn't for us.”

“It's not my fucking fault that apparently _everyone_ has a gun!” Gavin says, and Geoff rests his head on his hands as he laughs, hard enough that he's tearing up.

“You're such a fucking idiot,” he giggles, and Gavin reaches over to shove at him.

“I think I'm with Geoff on the pink,” Ray says after the laughter's died down a bit and it sets Geoff off all over again, sobbing for breath in the crook of his elbow as Gavin pouts. 

–-

Ryan fucks a girl with short red hair in the backseat of her car – a low-riding sporty thing with a smooth black paint job that she presses Ryan against while she sucks his dick, quick and neat and he has to push her off before he comes because otherwise this is going nowhere and he kind of would like it to go somewhere. She lets him hustle her into the back of the car, pulls him down with a fist in his shirt as he gets his hands on her. He can't quite remember her name (Callie? Cammie?) – whispered to him under the loud music of the bar – but as he makes his way down her neck he finds a delicate gold necklace with her name on it, resting neatly over her clavicle – _Carey_.

Carey plucks the condom from his wallet with an easy smirk and kisses him while she rolls it on before she lets him fuck her silly across the seats, one hand curled around her hip and the other firm on her clit, rubbing in quick circles that make her clench around him. She gasps so prettily for him, too, reaching up with one hand to pinch her nipples as the other drags Ryan down again to crush their mouths together – she tastes vaguely of the latex from sucking him off and a lot like the lipstick smudged around her mouth and smeared over Ryan's lips, bright red to match her hair.

He groans into her mouth and she asks for it harder and rocks up to meet him, hot and tight and _wet_ around him – he almost forgot what this was like, too used to Ray and his weirdly-scented lubes – and without the addition of cherry/strawberry/lemon/whatever, all Ryan can smell is the damp heat of sweat and pussy building up in the car.

Carey makes a noise not unlike a squeak when she comes – she flushes with embarrassment but Ryan just laughs softly and keeps going, pulling more short groans from her as she shakes under him, squeezing his hips with her thighs and almost gushing around him – Ryan _really_ forgot what _that_ was like.

He works another orgasm out of her just before he comes, panting into her neck and groaning quietly at the smooth squeeze of her around him. He spits out a few swears as she deliberately rocks up again, her smirk touching his ear as she reaches down to idly play with herself.

“Not gonna fall asleep on me, are you?” She asks a few moments later. Ryan laughs and pushes himself up above her, shamelessly raking his eyes down her body – her shirt's rucked up to expose her chest and she's _still_ got her leather jacket on.

“Not in the habit of that,” Ryan says, and Carey grins, squeezing his hips again.

“You up for a round two?” She asks, and Ryan chuckles as he carefully pulls out, only semi-awkwardly getting his hands down to slip off and tie off the condom, dropping it unceremoniously on his jacket on the floor.

“I don't know what kind of guys you're fucking,” he says as he braces himself on his elbows above he again. “But you gotta give me at least an hour.”

“Disappointing,” Carey teases with a smile.

“I'm sure I can still do _something_ ,” Ryan says, and dips down to kiss her again.

Ten minutes later he's got three fingers tucked up inside her with his thumb relentless on her clit and her shuddering under him as he mouths over a nipple.

He ends up with his fingers shiny with slick and come and has to wipe them on his shirt – and he has to scrub lipstick off of his cheek until the skin's red from abrasion, but it's entirely worth it, even though she leaves another stain on his cheek after he kisses her goodbye.

–-

Ray's right on Michael's tail as they head into the second corner – Gavin's tyre blew right off the starting block and Jeremy's somewhere ahead – but Ray's only staying this far back, pulling his speed, because Jack's in this race and there's no way Ray can win with Jack in the race. He's looking for the stunt jump that Jack takes on the second lap – if Ray does it on the first, he has a chance.

Michael swerves too hard left and drifts too far before reigning his bike back in, gunning the overly loud engine to catch up to the white bike in front of them. Ray follows with a neater turn and - _there_ , at the end of the next straightaway, the ramp.

It's tricky and tucked between two fences, a narrow gap barely wide enough for a car, but Ray'll try it. He pulls out to the side a little to line up with it as he races towards it, hunching down to streamline as he whizzes by the next turn. Ten metres. Five. Ray revs up the acceleration and shoots up the ramp and straight into mid-air.

It almost feels like slow motion as he arcs over the small park, empty swing sets and rusty monkey bars a terrifying drop below him. His heart jumps into his throat as he clears the trees.

And then, in the same slow-motion feeling, he starts dropping – and _dropping_ – struggling to keep his bike straight as he free-falls to what feels like his death.

Ray shouts and ducks his head as he crashes down not on asphalt, but on grass, on the wrong side of the fence around the park, frantically pumping his brakes as he careens towards the metal. He nearly get bucked off from the force, but instead crashes gently into the fence, sighing as he watches the other bikes race by.

Ray starts reversing to get back to his original corner.

He doesn't win, not by a long shot, but he still beats Gavin.

–-

Ramsey and Pattillo aren't faces. Aren't people.

They're names. Rumours, suspicion. You don't work for Ramsey, you get an envelope with instructions and another later with payment just signed _R_.

They're supposedly involved in the big bank heist of last year, these puppet-masters. No incriminating path, but if you trace the money far back enough, a pretty hefty chunk of the take goes to something called AH Industries, which you'd think was a lead.

Except AH Industries doesn't exist. Blank website, no search results, zip, zilch, nada.

Ray's never worked for them before, but when he finds a slim envelope tucked under his windshield wiper, he suspects he's about to.

–-

The envelope summons Ray to a crumbling warehouse basement on the outskirts of town. Mogar's there, too, when Ray walks in, greeting him with a grunt and a nod and still with that hockey mask on. Ray nods politely and makes sure to keep some distance between them.

Sitting at the metal table in the middle is who must be Ramsey in an impeccable suit, black gloves, and a black mask. He appraises them with a steady gaze, leaning back in the chair as he assesses them. Ray has no doubt he's got backup behind that other door.

Ramsey's eyes flick to Ray and he points a finger at Ray.

“You look familiar,” a _very_ familiar voice says, and Mogar speaks before Ray can.

“Geoff?!”

Ramsey's head snaps back to Mogar.

“Michael?!”

“What the _fuck_?” Mogar – _Michael_ – asks, ripping off his hockey mask to walk up to the table. Geoff looks past him to Ray and points accusingly at him.

“Who the fuck are you?” He asks, and Ray reaches up to silently slip his hood off. Michael's eyes go wide and Geoff audibly gasps.

“No fucking _way_ ,” Geoff breathes, and leans back in the chair to yell behind him. “Jack! Get your ass in here!”

“ _Jack_?!” Michael screeches as Jack walks in, taking off his mask when he sees them.

“Michael? Ray?” Jack asks, letting his SMG swing by his side as he approaches the table.

Geoff still eyes Ray up, removing his mask to squint at him.

“Are you a copycat?” He asks, and Ray spreads his hands in exasperation.

“Why does everyone say that?!” He exclaims, untying his mask to show them his face. “I'm not a fucking copycat!”

“Because you're _infamous_ ,” Michael says, turning to sit on the table. “I thought you were fucking – I don't know, actually had muscle.”

“Michael, we've worked together before,” Ray deadpans.

“Yeah, but I figured you, whatever,” Michael gestures to Ray's body and shrugs, “were hiding it so people underestimated you and shit.”

Ray rolls his eyes and Geoff laughs delightedly, pulling off his gloves to reveal his distinctive tattoos.

“And _you_ ,” Michael says, twisting to point at Geoff. “Why the _fuck_ are you running a bar?”

“It's a hobby,” Jack says. “Good cover, too.”

“Any other personalities you want to tell me?” Michael asks, crossing his arms and looking between them. “What, are you the mayor, too?”

“No, but we _are_ technically married in Arizona,” Geoff says, and Michael's mouth drops open.

“ _What_?!” He screeches.

“It's a long story,” Jack says with a dismissive wave. “We took our cover too far.”

“Okay, hold on, let's get one thing straight first,” Michael says. He meets each of their eyes and holds up a finger as he speaks. “We. Are never. Telling. Gavin.”

Ray and Jack crack up while Michael stares them down, nodding as Geoff wheezes. 

–-

Ryan manages to get a lube packet out and open it without breaking the kiss – a feat he considers impressive seeing as last time he tried it he spilt raspberry lube all down Ray's shirt – and dips his fingers inside to get some on his fingers before he slides his hand down the back of Ray's jeans. It tingles a little on Ryan's skin, odd and slightly unnerving, but hey, variety pack. That seems to be Ray's theme – the condom pressed into Ryan's palm is chocolate flavoured, and he's not sure how he feels about that yet.

Ray hooks his fingers into Ryan's jeans pockets and pulls him flush to his crotch as Ryan slips his fingers down Ray's ass, brushing over his hole. He pulls out to get more lube and Ray 'hm's into his mouth as Ryan eases a finger in.

“What is that?” Ray asks, kissing Ryan again before he can answer.

“I think it's tingling,” Ryan says when they separate again, running his thumb around Ray's rim. “Is it good?”

“Dunno. I'll let you know.”

It's not until Ray's half-naked and leaning against Ryan's bike, holding him close with a hand in his shirt, that he forms an opinion.

“I don't like it,” he says, breaking away to pull a face. Ryan stops the two fingers he's got in Ray and Ray wriggles again, brows furrowing as he shifts on his feet. “No, nope, that – fuck, it hurts,” he gasps, and Ryan immediately pulls his fingers out, smoothing a hand down Ray's side as he wipes them on his shirt.

“Fuck,” Ray whispers, shuffling again. “Fuck, that hurts – get it off, can you - “

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan soothes, crudely spitting on his fingers and reaching around again to wipe the lube away – it's more than a little awkward getting it off the inside, but Ray fumbles a new packet open and hands it to him so Ryan can replace it with – he smells the packet – cherry.

“Shit,” Ray murmurs a minute later, his face still pressed against Ryan's neck.

“You good?” Ryan asks, stroking a hand down Ray's back. “You want to stop?”

Ray shakes his head. “No.”

“You sure?”

Ray leans back to give him a look. “I didn't just spend two minutes with your fingers up my ass to _stop_.”

“I mean, we _can_.”

“We _won't_ ,” Ray corrects, daring Ryan to counter him, but Ryan won't, so they don't.

–-

It occurs to Ryan in the middle of business that he should really get Ray on a bed sometime. And not one of the sketchy backroom beds – a proper bed, like a hotel or maybe one of Ryan's places. Part of it is because they really should fuck somewhere more comfortable than a bike – not that that's not mindblowingly hot – but mostly because Ryan likes the idea of Ray in _his_ bed, naked and warm and pliant under him, in _his_ sheets.

The thought alone is more than enough to get Ryan hot under the collar.

 _Anyway_.

The prisoner spits at Ryan's feet and Ryan rewards that with a quick slash to the guy's thigh, grinning at the shout that gets him. He's feisty, this one.

“You think your little pussy knives scare me?” The prisoner asks. “I'm not fucking telling you _anything_.”

“Oh, you will,” Ryan promises, wiping the knife off on the guy's jeans. “You'll tell me all about your little friends at the FIB.”

The guy scoffs and Ryan flips the knife easily in his hand to stab it straight into the guy's thigh, leaning in close to his face as he screams.

“Give me names or I start taking limbs,” he warns, twisting the knife to hear the guy yell again. Blood spurts up onto Ryan's wrist – he's hit an artery. “And I'm not making it pretty.”

–-

Ryan _does_ manage to get the kid in a bed in his safehouse near Vespucci with a view of the beach from the kitchen window.

Ray tastes like cherry chapstick and faintly of weed and Ryan laughs as he braces himself over Ray.

“Are you high?” He asks, unable to keep the amused smile off his face.

Ray shrugs and curls his fingers around Ryan's arm. “A little,” he says. “That a problem?”

Ryan laughs again and moves to push up Ray's shirt, liberally splaying his hand over the lean muscle of his ribs as he goes.

“No,” he says, and lets Ray pull him down again.

It makes Ray looser, the pot, easy like warm putty under Ryan's hands, pliant and malleable and _eager_. He tugs insistently on Ryan's shirt but Ryan wants to do this right, wants it better than a behind-the-bar fuck. So he ignores Ray's hands and crawls down to get his mouth on his cock, slow and sloppy and he chokes himself just to hear the ragged groan it tears out of Ray. He gasps some form of Ryan's name when he gets close and he doesn't ever use Ryan's name a whole lot so Ryan lets the sound run down his spine, make him shiver as he pulls off before Ray can come. Ray whines and balls his hand into a fist as his dick twitches and Ryan replaces his mouth with his hand to keep Ray on edge as he surges back up to muffle Ray's noises.

Not that Ray needs to be quiet – the walls are soundproof.

Oh, that's an interesting thought.

 _Very_ interesting.

True to Ray's style, Ryan finds ribbed condoms and two mystery packets of lube in Ray's pocket and promptly spends the rest of the night figuring out how to work all _sorts_ of noise out of Ray, make him moan and whimper and _beg_ for him.

They've also never fucked face-to-face before – aside from in Ryan's car - and Ryan vows to change that because Ray's _hot_ when he's fucked out, from the flush that heats his chest to the twist of his pretty mouth as Ryan strokes him into oversensitivity – but again, he doesn't _stop_ Ryan.

And afterwards, he stays – he showers and redresses and _stays_ and later falls asleep in Ryan's bed.

–-

Ray guns past Jeremy's horrendous purple-orange bike and past Gavin's latest crash – there's a piece of splintered tree poking through his wheels – and sticks close to the outside to avoid the clusterfuck of heavy bikes gathered in the middle of the road.

He catches up to Ryan and speeds past him by leaning dangerously far into a turn, cutting sharply through the drift and leaving Ryan in the proverbial dust as he races ahead.

Yeah, Ray's enjoying his new engine.

He pulls alongside an electric blue bike and revs his engine deliberately to get its attention – Alice revs hers in reply and takes the next corner brakeless.

Michael appears somewhere behind Ray at Jack's corner and Ryan hounds his tail for almost the entire second lap, their engines obscenely loud compared to the rumble of Ray's and Alice's bikes. But they don't pass them and Ray finishes a split second behind Alice, pumping his brakes to coast in by the pavement, skidding to a rough stop beside an unmanned white bike.

“Pay up,” a voice says behind him, and Ray turns to see a smiling Alice, her helmet under one arm and her other hand held out palm-up. Ray laughs and tugs off his helmet, laying it on his handlebars as he reaches into his pocket for his wallet.

“Double or nothing?” Alice asks before Ray can give her the money. “Next race is in twenty minutes.”

Ray looks down the street, considering, and his eyes catch on Ryan – Ryan raises an eyebrow and gestures to the bar and Ray turns back to Alice.

“Nah, sorry,” he says, dropping the bills into her waiting hand.

“Wow, Ray, ditching me for your hot date?”

Ray furrows his brows in a question and Alice laughs.

“You and Vagabond bike over there,” she says, jerking a thumb at it. “The Ray I know would never turn down a second race.”

Ray rolls his eyes and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“It's nothing, Alice.”

“Sure,” Alice says, grinning as she folds the money away. “Whatever you say.”

“Fuck you.”

“You know where to find me,” Alice says just before she kisses him on the cheek and walks away, leaving him fifty dollars less. 

–-

_fountains pens are pretty cool_

Ryan blinks stupidly at the text for a while before he remembers who the fuck would be texting him about _fountain pens_.

> _how the fuck did you get this number?_

He's on a different burner phone, one that he hasn't texted fucking – _GoldenPussy_ on.

_not hard_

_anyway signing things is really fancy now_

> _What the fuck are you signing?_

_forging is signing_

Ryan rolls his eyes.

> _I already sent the money, if it's not there it's not my fault_

_no I got the money_

_just wanted to update you on my fountain pen_

> _Great for you_

_thanks!_

Ryan sighs and sits down in the fold-out chair in his kitchen.

> _Do you need something?_

_no_

_I'm gonna see what an exploding fountain pen looks like in slo-mo_

> _Have fun with that_

_it's at Trevor's if you want to come by_

_tomorrow morning, ten_

Ryan's mouth twists as he thinks about this. Why the fuck would this guy just give out his location like that, to _Ryan_? It's gotta be a fucking set-up.

> _I'll see_

_okay_

–-

Ryan doesn't go but he hacks into one of the cameras on the outside of the hangar – and sees a heavy camera on a tripod aimed right at a small table halfway down the runway. It's hard to tell from the video, but Ryan's betting there's a fountain pen and that the little red light on it is an explosive.

Someone in a hoodie runs towards it – probably the hacker – and fiddles with the pen before adjusting the camera and standing behind it. His hood's up and even when he turns to check his phone in his shadow away from the sun, Ryan can't tell from the slightly grainy footage what he looks like.

The pen explodes in a splatter of ink and metal and the shards reflect harsh pinpoints of light that almost look like stars flying across the runway. The hacker steps back a little and Ryan watches as he does something on the camera, maybe zooming in.

The hacker steps away from the camera to take a picture with his phone and then turns around – and waves right at Ryan's camera, giving him a quick thumbs-up. Ryan's dumbstruck for a moment, debating between shutting down his computer or just pretending he wasn't on a camera, but then his phone buzzes.

_IMG_2479_

_cool, right?_

Ryan looks at the photo and has to concede that yes, it's pretty impressive.

> _A little_

_wanna see a few more?_

On camera, the hacker pulls out a few more fountain pens from his pocket, waving them at a camera with a grin Ryan can see the edge of under the shadow of the hoodie.

> _Sure_

–-

“We should team up,” Ray says, plucking the joint from Ryan's fingers and taking a slow drag.

“I don't do firefights,” Ryan replies, stealing the joint back. “You know that.”

Ray smirks and looks at Ryan – they're leaning up against Ryan's bike, late-night mist rolling in and dampening the world around them.

“Give it a try.”

Ryan tilts Ray's chin up and leans in to shotgun smoke into his mouth, chasing it with a lazy kiss that tastes more of Diet Coke than weed.

“Send me the details and I'll think about it,” Ryan says, pulling back to take another drag. The joint fizzles in the mist, a burning bright spot in Ray's periphery.

“Deal,” Ray says, knocking Ryan's hand away so he can kiss him. Ryan drops the joint and his hand appears on Ray's hip, curling familiarly around the bone to tuck his fingers under his waistband.

–-

Ray's plan involves no less than four possible escape vehicles and a suspicious amount of duffles.

“I thought this was an assassination,” Ryan says over the comms they've set up, flexing his hands on the wheel of this stolen car. He glances at the empty black bags behind him and then to the building, where Ray should be. They haven't seen each other yet today – Ryan just drove up to the location and put the earpiece in. But now he has no idea what kind of weapons Ray has.

“Yeah, hopefully you'll be assassinating my ass later.” Ray says. His background crackles with static from the wind.

“Ray.”

“Come on, it's just a little robbery.”

“And if you had told me that, I'd have better weapons.”

“You don't need them.”

“Ray, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Meet me in the lobby in, uh, two minutes.” 

Ryan glances out the window to the fancy glass doors of the bank and squints, trying to figure out what the fuck Ray's plan is.

“Ray, where are you?” He asks slowly, dropping a hand to curl his fingers around the pistol hidden under his jacket. There's an SMG under the blanket on the passenger seat and a sniper rifle in the boot, but Ryan's swiftly starting to think that he won't need that.

Ray doesn't answer and a moment later the lobby explodes into action as Ray busts in through a back window, shooting down the security guards and Ryan can't see him past the sudden crowd of people. He guesses that's his cue. He grabs the SMG and the duffle and slams the car door as he runs past the civilians sprinting away.

“You're just going to let them go?” Ryan asks as he walks in, tossing a bag to Ray without looking and unzipping his own as he approaches the counter. “They're gonna call the cops.”

“Eh, let them,” Ray says. Ryan stays focused on punching open cash registers and clearing them – behind him he hears Ray move to the other end to start there.

Sirens wail and Ryan glances nervously up at the security cameras.

“Don't worry, they're dead,” Ray says, plonking his duffle down on the counter as he busts open a register. Ryan nods and suddenly the glass in front of him shatters – he ducks to avoid the two bullets and Ray swears and backs away – Ryan looks over and freezes to stare at Ray for a couple of seconds because the kid's _decked out_ , two guns on his back and a grenade belt on his waistband and even two thigh holsters with pistols and ammo clips. Ray slides out one of the pistols and shoots back over the street, grumbling about _fucking hero civilians_ before laying the gun on the counter again as he goes back to grabbing cash. 

Ryan's still stuck on the thigh holsters, to be honest, and how fucking _casually_ Ray's dressed. He's just wearing a T-shirt and jeans, for fuck's sake, with freaking _Vans_. Ryan feels overdressed in his heavy leather jacket and combat boots compared to this guy. At least Ray's still wearing a mask, but it doesn't do much to cover his face.

“We should go,” Ryan says, zipping up his duffle and slinging it over his shoulder. “Cops are almost here.”

“Not yet,” Ray replies.

Ryan opens his mouth to protest – he knows all the stories about BrownMan, but now that he knows Ray he's not sure he trusts them anymore (seriously, how is this skinny fuck _BrownMan_ ) – but before he can speak police cars skid to a stop outside and there's ten cops pointing their guns inside. At them. One raises a megaphone.

“This is the LSPD! Come out with your hands up!”

“We need to leave,” Ryan growls. Ray shrugs and picks up his pistol to shoot once at the cops – he dings a car and then they both immediately drop to the floor at the volley of bullets that fires towards them.

“What the fuck?!” Ryan asks, pulling back the slide on his SMG and peeking up to shoot back. “Why'd you do _that_?!”

Ray rolls his shoulders and gives Ryan a little knowing grin as he swings the assault rifle off of his back, snapping something into place as he shuffles to crouch behind the counter.

“It's more fun,” he says, and pops up to shoot. Ryan sighs and goes to help, spraying bullets in the cops' general directions and hitting a few – he's mostly trying to cover Ray's side, but as he reloads he realises he really doesn't need to at all.

Ray's popping off shots like it's _easy_ , downing cops like it's a carnival game and neatly reloading with the clips from the holsters. He doesn't duck down once and Ryan's begrudgingly impressed.

“They're calling reinforcements, let's go,” Ray says, slinging the duffle over his shoulder and leading them to the back door. Ryan follows suit and easily catches the gun Ray tosses at him. 

–-

Okay, so the thigh holsters are _doing things_ to Ryan. Doing things because Ray's hot when he's suited up and especially when Ryan's got him backed against the car post-escape and they're in the middle of the hills where no one can see.

Ryan plants a hand on Ray's thigh, right over the black band of the holster, and Ray grins into his mouth, spreading his legs more so Ryan can slot between them. The guns are still on Ray's back, pressed between him and the car and Ryan can't help but finger their straps, dropping one hand to unbutton Ray's jeans. He shoves open the fly to reveal the bright blue boxer briefs and Ray moans quietly as Ryan strokes his knuckles over the line of his cock, pushing lightly into soft skin and splaying his palm over the damp spot by the head.

Ryan jerks Ray off quickly and quietly, leaving marks all down his throat as Ray wriggles and grunts, grasping at Ryan's shirt as his hips twist into the movements of Ryan's wrist. There's a sudden tug on Ryan's shirt and Ray comes all over Ryan's hand with a satisfied sigh and in hot spurts that catch on Ryan's leather jacket and drip onto his hand. Ryan wipes it lazily against Ray's jeans and brackets his hips with his hands, holding him still as he licks into his mouth.

“Told you you'd like it,” Ray breathes between slow kisses. “We should do this more often.”

“What, jerking off after daring escapes in the middle of shootouts?” Ryan asks, squeezing Ray's hips.

“I really just meant the shootout part,” Ray says with a grin.

“You enjoyed that way too much,” Ryan says, and Ray hums an agreement as he kisses Ryan again.

–-

“Hey, so, what'd you think about a crew?” Geoff asks, sipping his whiskey as Michael raises an eyebrow and lights a cigarette.

“What about one?” Michael asks, offering the lighter to Ray, who declines. 

They're leaning against the wall of the car park because it's too hot inside the bar and Gavin and Jeremy didn't show up today for the race.

“We should make one,” Geoff says, glancing at them.

“We?” Ray asks, bringing a foot up to rest against the wall behind him.

“Yeah,” Geoff says simply. “Y'know, be a gang and shit.”

“A gang?” Michael asks, blowing out a stream of smoke through his nose. “Like Apex?”

“Eventually,” Geoff replies. “I've been thinking about it for a while.”

Silence stretches out among them as the slight breeze ruffles Michael's hair and whooshes smoke towards Ray. Geoff swirls his glass and knocks back the last of it, ice and all. Michael shrugs and flicks ash away.

“Yeah, okay,” he says.

“Yeah?” Geoff asks, the start of a grin tugging up the corner of his mouth. Michael nods.

“What about you, Ray?” Geoff continues. “You in?”

Ray glances at them and fiddles with the zipper pull on his jacket, looking down at his dirty Vans as he thinks.

“Sure,” he says. Michael grins and stubs out the cigarette on the brick, lifting a hand for a high-five Ray easily returns.

“Fucking sweet, I've got henchmen now,” Geoff says with a full-blown grin, ducking away from Michael's shove.

“You'd better hope we don't turn on you,” Michael warns, laughing at Geoff's eyeroll.

“Hey, so, what's our name?” Ray asks. Geoff shrugs and smiles a little goofily.

“We'll think of something,” he says.

–-

They call themselves the Fake AH Crew – a name that appeared during a late video game night when the other three were drunk as shit and Ray, well, Ray was a little high and hey, it's not a terrible name after all.

And once they actually start making plans, that's where the crossover between bartender and criminal becomes crystal clear. _Ramsey_ is not _Geoff_ , Ramsey is stern and fierce and _obeyed_. Ramsey is tough and will punch you in the nuts if you dare point a gun in his face. Unlike Geoff, who flinches when Gavin drops a glass on the ground and shrieks at jumpscares.

And in a similar way, _Pattillo_ is not _Jack_. Pattillo is easygoing and deceptively calm and unafraid of making a point. Pattillo is loyal and protective and doesn't budge an inch when threatened. _Jack_ is jovial and collapses into uncontrollable laughter when Jeremy gets too drunk and tries to fight everyone in the bar at once.

These are things Ray swiftly learns, working with them.

And Mogar – well, Mogar is much the same as Michael, in fact, angry and punch-first, talk-later, but Mogar's laugh is crueler and he's got a certain penchant for explosives that Ray expected more from Gavin.

Ray has no doubt that Geoff knew what _exactly_ what he was hiring when he asked them to join.

–-

Ryan buys Ray a drink and it's not long at all before they're outside again, making out with Ray perched on Ryan's bike and Ryan digging his fingers into adrenaline-hot skin from the race they finished not twenty minutes ago. Ray fumbles in his pocket for something and doesn't break the kiss as he fishes it out.

He only pushes one foil square into Ryan's palm and Ryan pulls back to raise an eyebrow.

“Condom?”

“Looks like I forgot one,” Ray says with a smirk that tells Ryan he definitely didn't. Ryan's breath hitches and Ray tugs his hands down to undo his jeans.

They're black this time, black and lace and mesh and they make Ryan want to do nothing short of _ruin_ them. Ray presses Ryan's hands to the panties and lets Ryan turn him around to bend him over the bike, running his fingertips under the elastic and cupping the hot weight of Ray's cock to make him shiver and gasp.

“You sure?” Ryan murmurs against the back of Ray's neck before he pushes in, pulling the panties to the side as he presses the wet head of his dick up against Ray's hole – slick with blueberry lube, this time, tart and sweet.

“Yeah,” Ray says, shifting to tilt his ass up a little more. “Come on already.”

Ryan drops a kiss on the nape of his neck and straightens to push in, groaning as he watches Ray open around him, hot and tight and wet with fucking – _blueberry_.

The bike squeaks as he fucks Ray over it, gripping the handlebars tight enough his knuckles are white and Ray _whines_ for it, trembling as Ryan's thrusts turn rougher the closer he gets. He gets a hand around to fondle Ray and Ray comes with a groan, soaking the thin mesh of the panties and it drips between Ryan's fingers to the floor. Ray rocks against his hand as Ryan presses his forehead to Ray's back, flushing hot and squeezing to give Ray some friction. He makes to pull out before he comes but Ray's hand flies back to grab his hip, keeping him there as he shivers and moans, shooting hot _right into_ Ray.

Ray groans into the leather seat and his knees almost buckle as Ryan pulls out, immediately fascinated with the trail of come that leaks out of Ray's hole – Ryan pushes it back in with a thumb and Ray swears under his breath as Ryan follows with his fingers, sinking two into the wet mess – _his_ mess – and crooking them down. Ray jumps and groans again, panting as Ryan slowly twists his fingers.

“Fuck,” Ray spits, back arching as Ryan presses deliberately over his prostate.

“You good?” Ryan asks, pulling his fingers out to admire the wet shine on them.

“I'm fucking _fantastic_.”

–-

The rain turns ferocious at a hundred miles an hour, biting at Ray's exposed skin and soaking into his clothes – he drifts out a little on a puddle and manages to reel the bike back in before he slips, water spitting up behind his wheels. He avoids the next large puddle, skirting around the outside of it, and Gavin sails right in front of him straight into a bench, denting the front of his bike and falling right on his ass in surprise. Ray laughs and deliberately revs his engine as he passes – Gavin flips him off as he struggles with his helmet.

Ray's visor gets blurry with rain and all he follows is the lights of the ghastly purple-orange bike in front of him, lining up on the left of it so he can overtake on the next turn. He flicks his headlights on and off as he passes Jeremy, tucking in tight to his bike to curve left and follow the next set of lights.

Jack doesn't take the shortcut this time – too dangerous even for him in the rain – so the rest of them actually have a chance for once. Ahead of him Ray sees white bike disappear around a sharp bend and follows, zooming past the two abandoned, smoking bikes crashed on the corner and gunning hard into the straightaway.

He swerves past a puddle and drives right through another one, spraying water up both sides and getting his socks _soaked_. Up ahead a black bike spins out and the rider swears loud enough Ray can hear it as he races by.

Annoyingly, Jack's already won when Ray turns into the last straightaway, that familiar blue bike already parked on the other side of the finish line. Still, Ray revs his engine and manages to eke out past white bike, narrowly avoiding fourth place and instead placing after Jack and Ryan.

Ray brakes hard by the pavement and tugs his helmet off as he kicks the stand out – rain immediately crawls down the back of his neck and makes him shiver. He glances at Ryan's bike and then to the pavement, where Ryan's waiting under the awning of the bar, leaning against a wall and looking at Ray. Ray grins and sets down his helmet before walking over, stuffing his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders against the rain.

Ryan's leather jacket is still wet with rain, droplets of water rolling down his shoulders and sleeves, and his hair's a little damp when he runs a hand through it. He jerks a thumb at the bar entrance and Ray nods, pushing up his sleeves as he follows Ryan in.

The bar's crammed with people tonight – a combination of the rain and the Friday night, and they've even got the dance floor lit up today, a bright mix of colours that changes with each song that pumps through the speakers.

Ray can't see Michael, Gavin, or Jeremy through the crowd, so he settles next to Ryan on a pair of barstools at the very end of the counter, scooting in close so people can get by behind them.

“You're soaked,” Ryan says, leaning in so Ray can hear him. Ray shrugs and the sensation of water down his back makes him shiver again. He takes off his wet hoodie and drops it in a pile on the counter, rolling his shoulders to unstick his shirt from his back. Ryan shrugs off his heavy leather jacket and offers it to Ray with a raised eyebrow – Ray shakes his head and Ryan's jacket joins Ray's.

A drunk girl bumps into Ray's chair and apologises through a series of hiccoughing giggles as Ray laughs and waves her off, scooting his stool closer to Ryan so he's more out of the way. His arm presses up against Ryan's as Geoff comes over, setting down their drinks before they can order.

“You're welcome,” he says, and cracks open both cans at the same time, pushing them towards them. “You want a glass?”

“Nah, we're good, thanks,” Ryan says, pulling his Diet Coke towards him. “Hey, can you put both on my tab?”

“I can pay,” Ray says, and Ryan shakes his head.

“It's fine, I can afford to buy you a drink,” he says, and Geoff nods and claps Ryan on the shoulder with a hearty smile.

“Real gentleman, this one,” he says with a lecherous grin, and leaves with a wink.

Ray wipes the condensation off of his Coke and downs a few gulps of it – cold enough to freeze his gums – before pushing the jackets to the side to set it down. Ryan's hand drops to Ray's thigh and Ray grins at it as Ryan leans in again to ask him something. The music still pounds through the bar, making conversation hard but not impossible.

They talk for a bit, about jobs, about video games, about how Ryan's engine's starting to sound a little too growly to be safe, and Ryan doesn't move his hand once. Ray lets himself lean in closer, his shoulder firmly against Ryan's as they laugh.

There's a lull in conversation as they order another round and Ryan's hand moves up slightly, squeezing deliberately as Ray thanks Geoff. His fingers dig into the inseam of Ray's jeans and, unknowingly, right over a bruise Ray got from a job two days ago. Ray's already got a semi going on just from the _suggestion_ of Ryan's hand.

The song changes into something with a heavy bass and fast techno and the lights flash accordingly, sending more people to the dance floor. Ryan squeezes again and shifts to close the gap between them, hiding the movements of his hand with his body. And it's a good thing, too, because then his hand slides boldly up to Ray's _crotch, squeezing_ again and Ray gasps at the touch. Ryan repeats the move and Ray's suddenly a lot harder than he was before – Ryan chuckles low and Ray ducks his head to hide the faint flush on his cheeks.

“You think I can make you come without anyone noticing?” Ryan asks, pressing his lips to the shell of Ray's ear. Ray nods and spreads his legs a little more so Ryan can adjust his fingers, grinding the heel of his palm right over the head. “You gonna let me?”

“Yes – _yeah_ ,” Ray breathes, bracing his elbows on the counter as he tears his gaze away to look at Ryan.

Ryan keeps talking while he fondles Ray, continuing the casual conversation and complaining about the grease stain on his helmet while Ray shudders and pants next to him, giving only one-syllable words as acknowledgement.

Geoff comes over _again_ and Ryan moves his hand back to Ray's knee as he politely asks for a refill – Ray drops his head on his arms and groans the second Geoff's back is turned, twitching helplessly in his jeans.

“He good there?” Geoff asks while sliding a drink over.

“Yeah, he's fine,” Ryan replies, tapping his fingers on Ray's knee. “Brain freeze.”

Geoff laughs uproariously and pats Ray's arm before walking away – the moment he's gone Ryan's hand returns, working him over mercilessly as Ray rocks slightly into the touch, toes curling in his shoes as he tries to get over the edge.

Ryan carefully undoes just the zip and slips his pinky and ring finger in to stroke over the thin fabric of Ray's underwear, rubbing lightly over the sensitive spot under the head and making Ray choke on his next breath.

“So close for me, aren't you?” Ryan whispers, watching as Ray dips his head again to hide his breathlessness. He can feel a flush creeping up the back of his neck, blooming hot over his cheeks as his thighs tense and heat settles behind his navel.

The music changes again and a whole new beat blasts through the speakers as Ryan touches him, targeting all his sensitive spots and breathing openly next to Ray's ear. Ray clenches his hands into fists and turns to hide his face in Ryan's neck – Ryan's skin is hot next to his, slightly damp with sweat and leftover rain and Ray doesn't hesitate to press his face into the crook of neck and shoulder, smelling leather and gunpowder and Los Santos rain as he rocks more obviously into Ryan's hand.

Ray comes with a quiet whimper and a shudder, shooting in hot, quick spurts into his briefs as Ryan's other hand comes up and threads through his hair to hold him steady where he is, panting into Ryan's neck. Ryan murmurs filthy praise while Ray gradually relaxes, sliding one hand off the counter to plant it on Ryan's and encourage him to keep going.

“God, you're fucking hot,” Ryan rumbles into Ray's hair, huffing out a harsh breath when Ray whimpers at the next squeeze.

“You got some risky kinks,” Ray says. “Dirty motherfucker.”

“You complaining?”

“Not at all.”

Ray pulls away to sit up again and shivers violently at the bolt of painful arousal the next rub of Ryan's fingers shoots through him. He's made a fucking mess in his underwear, wet and cooling unpleasantly quickly but he can't help but find it insufferably hot that Ryan just made him jizz himself in what is basically public.

He becomes numb to Ryan's touch after a minute or so and when Ryan's finally coaxed out the last few shudders from him he removes his hand, zipping Ray up on the way. When his hand comes into the light Ray can see the wet sheen of _his_ come on Ryan's pinky and ring fingers and Ryan only glances at Ray once before lifting them to lick it off. Ray groans a little and rests his head on his arms again.

Ryan urges Ray's head up with two fingers under his chin and only glances around once before kissing Ray quickly. Ray can very faintly taste the bitterness of his own come – man, he needs to eat some more pineapples – and very strongly taste the artificial sweet of Diet Coke.

Ryan's cool demeanour is ruined when Ray sees how turned on he is – he glances down at Ryan's lap where he can see the clear outline of Ryan's cock against his thigh and raises an eyebrow.

“You wanna take care of that?” He asks, and Ryan swallows audibly before nodding, letting his poker face fall as Ray eyes the flush on his cheeks.

“My place?” Ryan asks, and Ray shakes his head, noting the tension in Ryan's shoulders, the black-blown of his eyes. It's a good look on him.

“We're not gonna make it to your place,” Ray says, “but I'll blow you in the backroom.”

“Fuck,” Ryan gasps, and Ray takes it as agreement.

–-

The first heist Fake AH does is a bank.

It's a small bank almost on the outskirts of Los Santos, desolate and practically empty on a Wednesday night. Ray busts in with Michael and they take care of tying up civilians while Geoff ransacks the counter – they only manage to crack open two safes before police cars come screaming around the corner, and at that point they bail, taking what they have and recklessly piling into Jack's car as he drives away.

It puts them on the news and they get a kick from the police chase footage, but otherwise doesn't really differ from a normal job Ray would be hired for.

Still, the night ends in a round of video games and pizza at Geoff's place – a really fucking _nice_ place, too – and Ray counts that as the real win of the night.

–-

Geoff recruits some other people to help with the crew – _trusted contacts_ , he says, _connections_. There's a couple of hackers, a few jack-of-all-trades, and one of them is a mercenary – real muscle-for-hire shit. Geoff introduces Ray and Michael to the hackers – codenames Axial and Zed, real names Ray has no idea – and brings the merc – Doolz – in for one of their meetings.

The merc stands in the corner as Geoff – _Ramsey_ right now – lays out a map on the table in the middle, looking at Jack, Ray, and Michael in turn as he points to their positions.

“You, here,” he says, beckoning the merc over. The merc follows with an easy swagger, his tourist hockey mask a harsh contrast to the proud way he holds himself. Even if he is smaller than Ray.

Wait a second.

Ray narrows his eyes and rakes his eyes over the merc again – black leather jacket, black jeans, combat boots, mask – and pays special attention to the short, curt nod he gives in reply to Ramsey.

“Jeremy?” He asks, interrupting Geoff mid-sentence and earning himself a glare. Doolz shuffles awkwardly on his feet and Michael claps his hands, laughing loudly as Geoff scrutinises Doolz.

“Uh,” Doolz – Jeremy, that's definitely Jeremy's voice – says, and Geoff slaps the table with one open palm, sliding off his mask with the other and dropping it on the map.

Michael tugs his mask up to rest on his head as he wheezes with laughter, doubling over to rest his hands on his knees. Ray grins at Jeremy's wide eyes behind the mask and unties his own, patting Michael's shoulder as Michael chokes on his laughter. Jack just wordlessly shakes his head.

“Michael?! Geoff?!” Jeremy shouts, looking between them. “What?!”

“How the fuck is this happening?” Geoff screeches, sending Jack into loud laughter.

“Welcome to the club, man,” Ray says, unable to help laughing at Jeremy's confusion.

–-

“Heard you're making a crew,” Ryan says one night, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall next to Ray.

“Not mine,” Ray says while he texts.

“Ramsey's.”

“What about it?”

Ryan shrugs and Ray looks up from his phone.

“Just interesting.”

“What, you want in?”

Ryan scoffs and shakes his head, tucking his hands into his pockets. “No way.”

They're silent for a minute before Ray finishes texting and puts his phone away.

“It's late,” Ray says, glancing up at the sky. “Aren't you usually home by now?”

Ryan shrugs again and pulls out his wallet, neatly plucking a ten dollar bill from the fold. He holds it out to Ray.

“There's a no-brakes in twenty minutes,” Ryan says, turning his head slightly to look at Ray out of the corner of his eye. He raises an eyebrow in silent question and Ray takes the bill, sliding it easily into his pocket as he pushes off of the wall.

“Get it back if I win?” Ryan asks, smiling.

“Maybe,” Ray replies with a smirk.

–-

With Jeremy, Fake AH becomes less of a background puppeteer and more of a physical presence in the proceedings of the Los Santos underworld.

And by that Ray means they're taking on jobs that require them to kick ass and take names – Jeremy's a real fighter and he and Michael play off of each other perfectly, matching punches and seamlessly moving from one target to the next in a flurry of fists that's dizzying to watch through the scope.

Where Michael, Jeremy, and Geoff are the physical offensive, Ray and Jack are the relative sidelines – still heavily involved in shootouts and gang attacks, but where Michael's fighting off two cops Ray's holding back SWAT with quick sniper shots, talking to Jack across the comms to tell him which exit the others are using.

They make a good team, overall. There's a few gaps in knowledge – no one's a real big tech person in the crew, so disabling heavy-duty security systems isn't an option; they haven't got access to any planes yet, not legally; anything with the military base is a no-go, not enough firepower – _yet_ ; and none of them have connections to gangs outside of Los Santos – but they make it work nonetheless.

–-

Ray turns on Jack's computer one day to find a cat video playing on it – and when he tries to close it, finds the laptop unresponsive.

“Huh,” he says as Jack walks in with a cup of coffee. “This yours?” He asks, looking up at Jack.

Jack shakes his head and puts the mug down, standing beside Ray and looking down at his computer.

“No, I left it open on a news article,” Jack says, frowning as he tries to click out of the window. The video starts again. “What the fuck?”

Jack fiddles with the keys for a bit but all his attempts are for naught and he sighs as he runs a hand over his beard.

“We've been hacked,” he says.

“Shit,” Ray says.

“Yeah.”

–-

When Jack tells Geoff about the hack Geoff immediately freaks out and calls a meeting and phones Axial and Zed to tell them to get to the bottom of it.

Geoff opens up his computer to bring up a map – and just as he turns it to show them, the map flickers and another cat video fills the screen, sending Jeremy into laughter and Geoff into convulsions.

“Who the fuck got past our shit?!” Geoff shrieks, clicking frantically around the video. “How the _fuck_?!”

“I mean, what are they gonna find on there?” Michael asks, snickering quietly. “Your porn?”

“I have other things on there! Important things!”

“Sounds like code for hardcore gay bukkake porn,” Ray says. Jack laughs loudly and Jeremy wheezes, slapping a hand down on the table.

“Your fucking blueprints are on here, you fuckers,” Geoff snaps, pressing buttons at random now. “And your fucking bomb schematics.”

“Okay but seriously, is there anything really important on there? Like, top secret level important?” Michael asks, stifling his laughter but unable to wipe the smile off his face.

“No, I'm not a fucking idiot,” Geoff says, cutting a glare to Michael. Suddenly the video pauses and Geoff lifts his hands away from the keyboard as they all stare at it.

“What did you do?” Jack asks. Geoff shrugs.

“No clue.”

A blinking cursor shows up in the middle of the screen, just a vertical black line. Then it types out a word.

_hello_

“Uh, Geoff?” Michael asks.

“That's not me,” Geoff says. Jack turns the computer more towards him and types something on the keyboard – it shows up in white text underneath the first line.

> _hello_

“Wow Jack, keeping it civil,” Jeremy comments.

_ooh, you're friendly!_

> _who are you?_

_i'm Vav!_

“I don't like how chipper this guy is,” Geoff says, crossing his arms. “Fucking sinister is what it is.”

> _what do you want?_ Jack hesitantly types back.

_dunno_

_i'm bored_

“Seriously?” Jeremy asks, raising an eyebrow. “He's just fucking _bored_?”

“I wouldn't say that just yet,” Jack warns, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “What should I say?”

“Fuck off,” Michael provides.

“ASL,” Jeremy says. Geoff huffs out a laugh and Jeremy grins.

“Try, uh, try - “ Geoff peters off and taps his foot as he thinks, furrowing his brow.

“Seriously, what do you want?” Ray suggests. Jack shrugs and types it.

> _seriously what do you want_

_cats_

_> cats?_

_yeah, they're cute!_

Geoff growls and takes over the keyboard.

> _what the fuck do you want from us Vav_

_nothing_

_just bored_

_wyd?_

“Send him a dick pic,” Jeremy helpfully supplies, and Michael and Ray burst into laughter.

> _who are you working with?_

> _who got you in?_

_no one_

_don't worry, I left your firewall up_

“How the _fuck_ did he get past it?” Geoff asks, running a distressed hand through his hair. “Not even Axial can break it from the outside.

“Must be pretty good,” Michael says, gesturing for the keyboard. “Can I try?”

“Sure,” Geoff sighs, shoving the laptop over. Ray peers over Michael's shoulder as he types.

> _do you know who we are?_

_yeah_

_Fake AH_

> _meet us_

“Michael, what are you doing?” Ray asks. Geoff's head snaps up and he narrows his eyes, glancing down at the back of the laptop, conveniently angled away from him.

“Michael?” He asks.

> _unless you're a fucking coward_

“He's trying to meet with him,” Ray says, and Geoff's eyes go comically wide.

“You're trying to _what_?!” He screeches.

“No, no, wait, he's got a good idea,” Jeremy says, staring at the screen. “We can try and get the hacker in person.”

“Let's see what he says,” Jack replies, and Geoff grumbles but stays where he is, arms folded and an annoyed frown pulling at his mouth.

_sure_

_Trevor's?_

> _fuck no_

> _Rockford. 14. At 14._ _A week._

“You'd better hope he's smart enough to understand that,” Ray warns.

“He better be,” Michael says.

> _alone, no weapons_

_okay_

_see you_

The cursor disappears and the cat video goes away, leaving them staring in silence at Geoff's desktop.

“Well then,” Jack says, shrugging.

“Interesting,” Jeremy comments.

 _here's the porn by the way_ abruptly pops up on the screen, immediately followed by the browser window and a whole host of tabs opening in quick succession and they all burst into laughter at the sounds suddenly pouring through the speakers – a lewd overlapping of fake breathy moans and wet slaps – and Geoff shrieks again and lunges forward to slam the laptop closed, hugging it to his chest as he glares at all of them, his face reddening. Michael wipes tears out of his eyes as he giggles and Jeremy can't stop snorting into his elbow – Ray laughs loudly and Jack collapses into snickering, starting to laugh all over again whenever he looks at Geoff.

“I fucking hate all of you.”

–-

A job sends Ryan sprinting in the dark back alleyways of La Mesa – he took a page from Ray's book and now he's fucking dodging bullets _on foot_ – and he dashes around the next corner way too fast, skidding on his rubber soles and struggling to catch his footing to keep running. Fuck Ray's methods – this is why Ryan stays in the shadows.

He pants harshly under the mask and rips it off, stuffing it into his pocket before he knocks over some precarious bins to hopefully block the path behind him a bit – it's fine, he's got face paint, and he's pretty far from anywhere with cameras right now – and turns the corner just as a barrage of bullets hits the ground beside his feet.

Ryan's hair sticks to the paint on his forehead and his lungs burn with the exertion but if he doesn't run he's going to die, and he is _not_ dying in a fucking alleyway in the red light district. No fucking way.

He slides to a stop outside a locked door and kicks it down with two hard hits to the weak hinges, ducking inside to cut across the building. It's mostly empty inside, just a bunch of crates along one wall with dusty windows set above them. Ryan fumbles out his phone and dials Ray while he backs up to one of the windows, SMG pointed at the door he just came through.

Ray answers on the fourth ring. “Yeah?”

“La Mesa,” Ryan growls, twisting to peek out of the window. “Hurry up.”

“Why - “

Gunfire comes through the doorway and Ryan shoots back as best he can one handed, sneering at the barrel poking around the edge of the doorway. If the fucking cowards would come face to face he could beat them, but a close firefight isn't really his territory.

“Nevermind, I know why,” Ray says. “Stay alive.” And hangs up.

Ryan backs into the corner of the building and reloads his clip, viciously unloading into the shoe he can see – the owner shouts and backs away and Ryan grins at the reaction. He knows there's more guys – probably swarming out from the car they chased him in and probably headed right towards those windows on the other side of the crates to his left – but Ryan focuses on the four at the door, shooting at peeking barrels and the occasional arm.

The heavy _thwump thwump_ of chopper blades appears above them and Ryan groans, slamming a new clip in and shooting at someone's thigh. Either the guys just got back up or someone's called the fucking police – either way, Ryan's going to have to bail.

One of the guys takes advantage of Ryan's temporary pause to step in the doorway, filling it completely as he raises an assault rifle and aims it right at Ryan's fucking face from all the way across the building – it's a split second between that and by the time Ryan registers he should _move_ the guy's brains blow out of the side of his head and he drops with a look of surprise on his mangled face. Ryan gasps and quickly swings his gun up to shoot at the next guy that becomes visible, but after that there's no one shooting at him.

Against his better judgment, Ryan crouch-walks to the door he came through, kicking the corpse to the side as he peeks around the edge – there is indeed a chopper, but not a police one. It's big and black and heavy and hanging out the side is Ray with a high-powered rifle, shooting down guys as the pilot guns down the car with the helicopter guns.

It's impressively ridiculous and Ryan watches in muted awe as they clear the street – Ray leans back in to yell something and the pilot spins the chopper so Ray can hit the retreaters, nailing them in the back and laughing as they collapse to the ground.

When there's no one left to shoot Ray shouts something to the pilot and the chopper lowers enough Ray can jump out, landing neatly on his feet and swinging his rifle onto his shoulder before he pats the side of the helicopter. He gives a thumbs-up to the pilot and starts walking away as the chopper rises, turning to fly away.

Ryan retreats back into his building corner in case there's any more trouble, but the next person that appears in the doorway is Ray, leaning casually against the frame and grinning smugly as he crosses his arms. Ryan lowers his gun and walks towards him, running a hand through his sweaty hair on the way.

“Thought you didn't do firefights,” Ray says, looking him up and down.

“I tried,” Ryan admits, tucking his hands into his pockets and shrugging. “Maybe going alone into one isn't the best option for me.”

Ray glances around the warehouse and scoffs. “Yeah, it really isn't. You were hiding out in _here_?”

“Hey, it was a little panicky, okay?” Ryan says.

“You'd better thank who-fucking-ever that the guys you were fighting were as dumb as you.”

Ryan frowns and glances back at his corner. “How is it dumb?”

“Well, I mean, it's just because you don't know the area,” Ray says, smiling as he shrugs. “But that building - “ he points to the one next door, the one Ryan can see through the dusty windows “ - is an abandoned fireworks factory. Lots of leftover gunpowder.”

“Shit, really?” Ryan asks, squinting to see beyond all the dirt. “Good thing they didn't blow it up.”

“Yeah, would have taken out the whole block,” Ray says, pushing himself back to standing. “But hey, that's why I'm here. To save your ass.”

“Thanks,” Ryan says, rubbing at the drop of paint he can feel trickling down his throat. “Sorry for ruining your Saturday.”

“Eh, I wouldn't say it was ruined.” Ray looks down at his hands and flexes his fingers. “Wasn't doing much anyway.”

“On a Saturday night?”

“Nah, I was just hanging out with Mogar,” Ray says, jerking a thumb to the outside, presumably to indicate the chopper he came in that's long gone by now.

“You work with Mogar?” Ryan asks, faintly surprised.

“Yeah,” Ray says simply. “Anyway, we weren't doing much. And he wanted to test out the chopper. So, here I am.” He gestures to himself.

“Hm,” Ryan hums, nodding. “So, we should probably get out before the cops come, right?”

“Probably,” Ray agrees, making no move to leave. “Your car around?”

“Yeah, few streets over.” Ryan rubs his chin and glances around for a few seconds, thinking about what he wants to say. “You doin' anything else tonight?”

“No, why?” Ray asks with a smirk. Ryan matches it.

“I hear there's a fancy shindig on some cruise ship tonight,” he says. “I'm sure with your rifle we could see it from Chiliad.”

“How fancy?”

“Corrupt out-of-state senator fancy.”

“You got bullets?”

“I got a lot more than that.”

“Fuck, I'm yours.” 

–-

“What else do you do for fun? Besides shoot people,” Ryan asks, glancing up at Ray. Ray shrugs and keeps watching Ryan's hands – he's whittling something out of a small block of wood with a rainbow switchblade – fucking nerd, they're up on Chiliad to watch the fireworks and Ryan brings fucking carving.

“Eh, y'know,” Ray says, leaning back against the boulder. “Jerking off. Video games.”

“At the same time?” Ryan raises an eyebrow and turns the block over in his palm, brushing away flakes of wood as he starts scraping off a corner.

“Sometimes.”

Ryan laughs softly and Ray brings a knee up to rest his arm on it, ignoring the chill of the rock they're sitting against to focus on the easy motions of Ryan's fingers.

“What kind of games?” Ryan continues, not looking up from his work.

“Whatever's fun. Do you play?”

Ryan lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Sometimes. What's your tag?”

“BrownMan.”

Ryan's hands stop and he looks up at Ray, blinking.

“Your gamertag is your alias?”

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck.”

“Most people think it's a fake, anyway,” Ray says, laughing at Ryan's continued silence.

“How the fuck are you still alive,” Ryan mutters, going back to his carving.

Ray leans his head against the boulder and watches for a few silent minutes as Ryan carves, whittling down the harsh edges and forming the wood into a disc just a little bigger than a casino token.

“What're you making?” Ray asks. Ryan smiles.

“You'll find out,” he says, and Ray instantly thinks he'll carve a dick into it.

Instead a fireworks booms on the beach they're perfectly poised to see and Ray watches the burst of colour flash over Ryan's face and reflect off the knife. Ryan seems completely focused on the wood, so Ray turns his head to watch the fireworks as they explode over the ocean in quick, fiery splashes of colour. People cheer down below as they burst – there's a rapid succession of red-white-blue that makes everyone whoop – and among the gathering Ray can see teenagers with sparklers weaving through people.

The show's gone on for about twenty minutes when Ryan nudges his elbow and pushes something into his open hand – Ray turns to look at it, holding the wood disc up to see what Ryan's carved into it.

“It's a rose,” he says with faint surprise – he really was expecting a dick, but it's actually a really fucking good rose, stem and all.

“Yeah.”

“That's so fucking good,” Ray adds, holding the chip up to the fleeting firework light to study it more, thumbing over the petals.

“It's nothing,” Ryan says with a shrug. “Flowers are easy.”

“Ryan the woodshop guy,” Ray says, holding the disc back out to Ryan. “It's nice.”

“It's for you,” Ryan says, brushing flakes off his jeans onto the ground. “Keep it.”

“Sweet. Thanks.” Ray pockets the thing and Ryan picks up the knife laying on his knee, spinning it idly between his fingers as fireworks go off in front of them.

Okay but now Ray can't keep his eyes off of Ryan's fingers because they're flipping the blade nimbly around his knuckles and Ryan makes it look effortless, _easy_ , just spinning it without even looking and Ray finds that a little hotter than he should. Maybe because he knows what those fingers feel like on practically every inch of his body.

And maybe it's a byproduct of hanging out with Ryan so much but Ray's maybe finding the knife hotter than he should because he kind of wants to know what it would feel like against his throat while Ryan fucks him.

Ray also swears he's somehow absorbing kink from Ryan – diffusion or some shit, because he's discovering a whole host of new filthy shit he didn't even know he was into, and it's probably because Ryan's the only one he's been sleeping with for – _fuck_ , for _months_ now.

“Hey Ryan.”

“Yeah?”

Ray shifts to clamber onto Ryan's lap, swinging a leg over Ryan's and sitting firmly on his thighs – Ryan stops spinning the knife and closes it with a sharp _snap_ as his other hand goes to Ray's hip.

“Keep it out,” Ray says before Ryan can tuck it away and Ryan pauses for a second, eyes flicking up and down Ray. He flips the knife out again and presses the flat of the blade against Ray's inner thigh, turning it to ever so slightly dig the sharp edge into his jeans, enough for Ray to feel it through the denim. Ray shivers and Ryan grins wickedly.

“Kinky motherfucker,” he teases.

“Learnt from the best,” Ray replies with a smirk.

–-

Geoff orders them all suited up for this _Vav_ meeting.

They get there forty-five minutes before the meeting and Geoff has Jeremy and Jack scope out the outside before they dare go in, lest this hacker got here even earlier and set some sort of trap.

When they give the all clear Ray and Michael go in, followed by Geoff, and the moment the door shuts behind them a light switches on and Ray and Michael immediately lift their guns, pointing them at the figure sitting on the table in the middle.

“Hey, I was just waiting for you guys!” The figure says, waving a little before looking back down at the solitaire game laid out in front of him. He's hooded but seems skinny – more like Ray's build than Michael's, and Ray can see the shadowed edge of a smile below the hood. And the accent -

“You're earlier than I thought you'd be.”

\- the accent is a stretched Southern one, Texan maybe, but it doesn't sound quite right coming from that body.

“You're Vav, I presume?” Ramsey asks, his voice rougher than Geoff's.

“Yep,” Vav replies cheerfully, popping the 'p' obnoxiously loudly and moving a card. “And you're Fake AH.”

Ray glances at Michael and they take a few steps backwards in unison, so they're behind Geoff but still close enough for protection. They don't lower their SMGs.

“What do you want?” Ramsey asks coolly.

“Well - “ Vav shifts to uncross his legs, still sitting on the table, and as he untangles one he tips suddenly to the side, spitting out an “ah, shit!” just before he barely catches himself on one arm. But the accent slipped.

“British?” Michael asks. Ray can't see his face with the mask, but he can imagine the confused twist of his mouth.

“Uh, no,” Vav says with a now poor Texan accent.

“Bullshit, don't fucking lie,” Michael snaps, and Vav pauses, his head slowly tilting to look up at Michael.

“What did you just say?” He asks, accent slipping even more and yeah, he's definitely British.

“I said that's fucking bullshit,” Michael says, cocking his shotgun and aiming it more pointedly at Vav's head.

“Mi – chael?” Vav asks hesitantly, and Michael full-body freezes – Ray stops with him, because that sounds an awful lot like -

“Gavin?” Michael breathes.

“Michael!” Vav pushes his hood off and yeah, that's Gavin in his full bedhead glory, grinning ear-to-ear.

“No fucking way,” Michael deadpans as Gavin clambers off the table. Ray stays quiet and Ramsey crosses his arms, relaxing into a very Geoff pose that Ray recognises as guarded amusement.

“No. Fucking. Wa – get off me!” Michael yells as Gavin hugs him, looping an arm around his shoulders and laughing. “Get off!”

“Michael, I didn't know you were in Fake AH!” Gavin giggles, ignoring Michael's attempts to shove him away. Michael glares at Ray from under his mask and Ray makes a cutthroat motion with his hand when he sees the mischievous narrowing of Michael's eyes.

“Fuckin' – Ray, come help me out!” He shouts, and Gavin looks at Ray, cocking his head.

“Fuck you, man,” Ray says, swinging his SMG onto his back.

“Ray?” Gavin asks, letting go of Michael to look Ray up and down. Then he looks at Ramsey. “I thought you had the actual BrownMan, not a copy.”

“I'm not a fucking copy!” Ray shrieks – Geoff laughs and Ray glares at him. “Yeah? Got something to say, _Geoff_?”

“Aw, come on,” Geoff complains as Gavin whirls on him, grinning gleefully as he almost tackles Geoff with his hug – Geoff whines pathetically and tries to push Gavin off, to no avail. Ray grins and Michael laughs as he watches, shaking his head when Geoff asks for help.

“I regret hiring you,” Geoff says once he's got Gavin under control in a headlock.

“You can always fire us,” Michael helpfully reminds him.

“You're not getting out of this that easily,” Geoff warns, finally pushing Gavin away from him. “And you,” Geoff continues, jabbing a finger into Gavin's chest, “you want to fucking explain yourself?”

“Yeah, what's with all the hacking bullshit?” Michael asks. “You're a fucking idiot.”

Gavin shrugs, still smiling. “It's not that hard.”

“It explains how he's affording all the bikes,” Ray says, and Geoff laughs as Gavin pulls a face.

“I don't believe this for one fucking second,” Michael proclaims. “There's not fucking way you're a hacker.”

“Yeah I am!” Gavin exclaims.

“I've never heard of Vav before,” Ray says.

“Well yeah, I've got aliases, haven't I?” Gavin says. “I'm not a bloody – _amateur_!”

“Really? Because you sure seem like it,” Michael says, crossing his arms. “You showed your face before you even knew who they were!” He gestures to Ray and Geoff and Gavin scoffs.

“It's just Ray and Geoff.”

“ _Just_ Geoff?” Geoff yells, but he's ignored.

“They could have been your worst enemies!” Michael shouts. “You could be dead by now!”

“Well I'm not, am I?”

“ _That's_ a fucking miracle.”

“Geoff!”

–-

Ryan's nose throbs with pain from the brass knuckles but he bandages the cuts and still goes to the Saturday night race, lining up with Ray at the start line and coming fourth because gold bike – Gavin, Ryan's pretty sure the guy's name is – actually managed to keep his bike in one piece for once, and he's not a terrible racer when he stays on course.

Afterwards he sets up on his usual stool and chats with Jack and Geoff between their orders. At around eleven a redhead shows up next to Jack and starts tying on a small apron before punching something into the register.

She goes to Ryan first, smiling politely.

“You want anything?” She asks, and Ryan shakes his head, turning his glass around in circles between his hands.

“I'm good, thanks,” he says, and she nods and turns to walk to the other end of the bar.

Jack comes by a few minutes later with a refill and a drink for himself – “I'm on break,” he says when Geoff asks him to pass a glass. He rests his forearms on the counter and leans in to talk with Ryan, telling him all about Geoff's latest embarrassing story.

The redhead's walking in their direction again when Jack slams the last of his drink back, sighing as he puts it in the case of used glasses behind him.

“Well, I guess my ten is up,” he says, glancing around the bar. “You want anything?”

“Nah.”

Ryan eyes the redhead and Jack pushes himself up to standing.

“New hire?” Ryan asks, and Jack nods, breaking out into a smile.

“Yeah, that's Lindsay,” he says just as the redhead reaches earshot. “She's doing the later shifts.”

“I heard my name,” Lindsay says as she walks up to them.

“Lindsay, this is Ryan. He's kind of a regular.”

“Is that all I am to you, Jack? A regular?” Ryan asks, pressing an offended hand to his chest. “I thought I meant more to you.”

“Is Jack hittin' it and quittin' it again?” Geoff asks as he passes, laughing when Jack shoves him forward.

“Aren't we at least friends, Jack?” Ryan continues.

“Eh, friends is a strong term,” Jack starts, but Geoff grabs his shirt and pulls him away before Ryan can reply.

“Did I just witness a break up?” Lindsay asks, and Ryan laughs. Her polite smile brightens into something more genuine.

Ryan hits it off amazingly well with Lindsay, laughing at her passing remarks about rude customers and answering her various questions when she takes her ten and stays to talk with him. A round of hollering bursts from the corner booth and they both look over to see Ray's table in various states of drunken hilarity – the guy Ryan's pretty sure is Gavin is sitting with a shocked look on his face and the entire front of his shirt soaked with beer as the rest laugh at him.

“I'm not cleaning that up,” Lindsay deadpans.

–-

“How'd you do that?” Ray asks later, pointing to Ryan's nose.

“Walked into a door,” Ryan says, gripping a handlebar of his bike as Ray lifts a hand to tilt Ryan's head, brushing his thumb over the plasters.

“Didn't realise doors had knuckles,” Ray replies, grinning at Ryan's sigh. “Who'd you piss off?”

“No one important,” Ryan says, and Ray's hand slides down to his neck to pull him in for a kiss. Ryan hums into it and Ray's hand stays on his neck, the other slipping under his jacket to splay over his ribs.

It's a pleasant few minutes of just making out before Ray pulls away, panting a little and his lower lip slightly swollen from Ryan's teeth.

“Let's go get back at my neighbours,” Ray says.

“What did they do?”

“Kept me up all fucking night with their fucking karaoke.”

Ryan laughs and kisses him again. “Did you ask them to stop?”

“Yeah, and I got 'fuck you'.” Ray pulls back to look at Ryan with a smirk. “My bed's right up against their wall.”

“How much do you want to fuck with them?” Ryan asks.

“All fucking night.”

“Oh, I'm sure I can manage that,” Ryan says, matching Ray's smirk.

–-

Ray ducks back down to reload and swears at the round of bullets that blasts into his cover – thankfully a low concrete wall – and Michael pops up to shoot back next to him.

“We just need a few more minutes,” Geoff shouts over the comms, nearly drowned out by the firefight surrounding them.

“We need to retreat!” Michael yells, covering his ears as Ray tosses a grenade a bit too close for comfort and the explosion shudders through the air around them, followed by a short scream of maybe the one guy Ray hit.

“How bad is it?” Jack asks.

“We need to fucking go,” Ray says, lifting the SMG and spraying bullets back at their attackers – a group of hired thugs with a lot more mettle than Geoff expected.

“I haven't got the info yet,” Gavin says.

“Fuck the info, we're outnumbered!” Michael shouts, sliding a clip over to Jeremy, who reloads and peeks back up to shoot.

“We need the info!” Geoff exclaims.

“We can try again later - “

“We won't have another chance, just hold them off until Apex get here - “

“ _Apex_?! _Apex_ are coming?!”

“Don't you dare fucking shoot them,” Geoff warns. “I don't want to give them a reason to come after us.”

Another few hectic minutes of fighting pass, and they're fast running out of bullets and all Ray's got left in his grenade belt is smoke grenades – useless in their current situation. A car swerves in front of the building they're shooting at.

“Don't shoot the car – that's Apex!” Geoff shouts.

“Got it!” Ray says, aiming elsewhere to gun down the mercs still shooting at them.

More explosions shatter the air around them and Michael swears loudly as a grenade bounces way off course, blowing up a group of crates too close to their right. Ray twists and ducks and his back slams against the wall as a grenade sails right over their heads and clatters in the street, not close enough to kill but close enough to _feel_.

“I fucked up,” Jeremy says all of a sudden over the comms, and Ray and Michael glance at him. “I fucked up,” he repeats, popping the 'p' and sounding way too matter-of-fact for it to mean anything good.

“What did you do?” Jack asks, and Ray and Michael follow Jeremy's wide-eyed gaze to – the Apex car. Specifically, to the guy now slumped against it with a bloody hole in his chest.

The comms explode into shouting - “What the _fuck_ , J?!” “Retreat, we're getting the fuck out of here!” “Fuckfuckfuckfuck just _go_! “Shut the hell up and get _moving_ , Vav!” - as they retreat, running clumsily away to the cover of the next building and dodging the gunfire nipping at their heels as they pile into Jack's car. He peels away before Ray's even shut the door and Geoff's chewing out Jeremy over the comms while he escapes with Gavin in a different car.

“We're fucked, aren't we?” Michael asks, dropping his gun by his feet.

“Yep,” Ray agrees, still listening to the screaming in his ear.

–-

Ryan retreats out of the city when the gang wars start – he's not getting pulled into that shit, no way – and holes up in a rarely-used safehouse in Paleto Bay, going dark while Fake AH and Apex duke it out.

Fake AH is relatively new – and all Ryan knows about it is that Ray's in it and it's recruited some of the best names in the Los Santos underworld. Headed by Ramsey and his right hand man Pattillo – no one really knows much about either, but they're powerful and they've had their hand in a number of infamous jobs – Fake AH is one of the biggest rising names in the city. It's got Mogar – ex-street fighter and also apparently now an explosions guy – Doolz, another street fighter but a pretty well-known, reliable mercenary before Fake AH, Ray, and then a hacker called Vav that Ryan's never heard of before.

Apex is established and has its feelers in every business imaginable – from boutiques to arms deals, they've touched every dark corner Los Santos has to offer – and they are not a gang to fuck with. So no fucking way is Ryan messing with that.

–-

The gang wars are mostly running and hiding.

Ray'll go with Michael to blow up an Apex warehouse early morning and then either retreat to one of Geoff's safehouses or lead Apex on a chase to distract from where Jeremy and Gavin are looting another warehouse.

It's exhausting and draining and more often than not Ray falls asleep sitting up against the wall while they wait for the heat from the cops to die down. At that point they're usually all holed up in one place, and with nothing to do but wait and clean weapons, it gets boring _real_ quick.

They're actually doing pretty okay for the first week and then Jeremy gets shot in the leg and suddenly they've lost a main ground fighter.

It kind of goes downhill from there.

–-

Two and half weeks in of this hit and run shit and they're all absolutely run down – Michael's sleeping on Ray's shoulder right now and Gavin's on his fourth Red Bull of the night, typing rapidly on a thick laptop perched on his crossed legs. Jeremy's taking over reloading duty since he can't run anymore and Jack's taping up the nasty cut Geoff got on his cheek earlier that day.

Geoff gathers them for an impromptu meeting at midnight and sits down on the floor next to Gavin with a heavy sigh, propping up his head with a hand on his chin as he looks at them.

“We're gonna need backup,” he says, glancing at Gavin's screen. “I don't want to pull in B-team so any contacts you have, use them.”

“What about, like, making sure they don't betray us and shit?” Michael asks, still leaning on Ray's shoulder.

“I don't fucking care,” Geoff says. “Call people you trust.”

–-

Ryan's parked on the edge of a bluff, kind of just watching the waves as the moon rises higher in the sky. It's peaceful out here in the dead of night – and also great for burning evidence – and Ryan glances sparingly at the pile of ashes down by the shore, almost touched by the tide.

His phone buzzes and he frowns as he pulls it out, checking the caller ID before picking up.

“Hey,” he says as greeting, tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear.

“Hey,” Ray says. “Get your ass down here.”

Ryan blinks. “Are you – Is this a booty call?”

“I wish – no, we need help.”

“Help?”

“Yeah, you know, fighting help. Get these assholes off our backs.”

“Thought you liked that sort of thing.”

Ray laughs and Ryan smiles, fiddling with the knife still laying in his lap.

“From certain people, yeah,” Ray jokes, and Ryan chuckles. “But seriously, we need help.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“I dunno, something. Probably something with guns.”

“Something with guns.” Ryan looks out at the horizon. “How soon?”

“Soon as possible. You got something?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, the corner of his mouth curling in a smirk as he looks in the direction of the military base. Yeah, he's got something.

–-

Ryan rolls in in a fucking _military chopper_ and if Ray had the energy to laugh he would, but instead he just shakes his head as Ryan obliterates the building opposite Ray and Michael, shooting it into spectacular flame.

“Jesus Christ, who the fuck is that?” Michael asks, looking at the explosion in something like awe.

“A friend,” Ray says with a shrug, clicking on his comm to give Jack their position.

–-

“Who the fuck called in the Mad King?” Geoff asks as he bursts into the safehouse living room, glaring at each of them in turn. “And who the fuck didn't tell me they could contact him?”

Michael looks at Ray and Ray shrugs.

“You said to just call people you trust,” he says. Four heads immediately whip around to look at him.

“I meant fucking – mercs or some shit!” Geoff exclaims, closing the door behind him. “Not fucking psychopaths!”

“You know the Mad King?” Jack asks, mirroring Jeremy's shocked expression.

“Yeah,” Ray replies, glancing at Geoff. “We've worked together a few times. He's cool.”

“He's one of the most dangerous guys in the city!” Jeremy protests. “He could kill us all in ten minutes!”

“He won't,” Ray says, going back to his phone. “Don't worry about it.”

“Yeah Geoff, don't worry about it,” Michael snickers, laughing at Geoff's ensuing spluttering.

“If he fucks us over you're fired,” Geoff threatens. Ray waves him off and Michael collapses into more laughter.

–-

“Told you I got something,” Ryan says when Ray walks out of the warehouse, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Didn't say you didn't,” Ray replies, holstering his pistol and kicking the door closed behind him.

“There's some of your guys over at Apex's HQ,” Ryan says, pushing off of the wall to fall in step beside Ray.

“Who?”

“Doolz, I think. Ramsey. Mogar. Maybe Pattillo? Some other people I don't know.”

“Oh, yeah, they're doing a deal,” Ray says, pulling out his burner phone to check for any messages.

“And if that doesn't work out?”

“Then they're doing a raid.”

Ryan laughs and Ray smiles, pushing his hood back as his phone buzzes.

 _We're whoppy toppy_ , it says, and Ray shakes his head.

“They're good,” he says. Ryan peers at his phone and Ray can imagine the frown he's making under the mask.

“What kind of fucking code is that?” Ryan asks.

“It's not,” Ray replies, grinning at Ryan's silence. “Vav's weird fucking vocabulary is the code.”

“What the fuck?”

“I ask myself that every day.”

–-

Geoff tells them to stay low after the deal, separate and fly under the radar for a week or so in case Apex tries to renege.

So Ray stays in Ryan's place in Vespucci and spends most of his time either making out with him or sleeping. Geoff, of course, doesn't know he's rooming with one of the “most dangerous guys in the city”, as Jeremy would put it, but Ray thinks that small fact is on a need-to-know basis. And Geoff doesn't need to know.

And anyway, Ryan's kind of harmless, Ray thinks, propping his chin on his hand as he watches Ryan spill juice all over himself.

“Oh, what the fuck?” Ryan sighs, setting the carton down and looking despairingly at the soaked front of his shirt. “Come on.”

Ray chuckles and Ryan glares at him, grabbing the hand towel off the rail to dab at the fabric.

“You should take your shirt off,” Ray says, partly to be helpful but mostly because he's kind of a perv when it comes to Ryan.

“Yeah, I'd bet you like that,” Ryan says, putting the towel down nonetheless and tugging his shirt over his head. Ray smirks and Ryan balls the damp shirt up and launches it straight at Ray's face, making him splutter and reel back. “Perv,” Ryan adds.

Ray uses the dry parts of the shirt to wipe the juice off his face and narrows his eyes at Ryan's smirk.

“Fucker,” he says.

–-

There's a brief conversation during a Left 4 Dead marathon that leads to them trying to get Ray to come twice in a night.

And what that means is Ryan pulls Ray in between his legs, back-to-chest, and pushes a controller in his hands and tells him to focus. Ryan gets his hands on Ray's belt and his mouth on his neck and spends the next fifteen minutes messing Ray's game up with his hands, jerking him off with even strokes as he bites bruises into his jugular, grinning as Ray swears and pants.

To his credit, Ray does try to keep playing, but he falls off a building and dies as he comes in spurts over Ryan's fist, dropping a hand to uselessly grip Ryan's wrist.

Ryan pants hotly in his neck and twists to get lube from the drawer and the game's forgotten.

“You wanna be on top?” Ryan asks while he's shoving Ray's shirt up.

“Fuck no,” Ray says, and Ryan easily rearranges them.

Ryan spends a whole ten fucking minutes prepping Ray because he's a fucking _tease_ like that, but maybe also because Ray's still tingling with oversensitive pain a little, gasping at every sudden push of Ryan's fingers and tensing every time it gets too much.

And then Ryan's scraping his teeth up Ray's jaw as he sinks in - “Condom?” “Nah.” “You sure?” “Yes I'm fucking sure, Ryan.” - and proceeds to fuck Ray too slowly. Ray kind of appreciates the caution but also wants to get fucking _railed_ , so he pulls Ryan down and knocks his ass with his foot so Ryan gets the fucking message.

It turns out Ray _can_ come twice – with plenty of help from Ryan's hand – shuddering as he whines brokenly and comes in weak bursts over his abdomen. Ryan moans into his neck and Ray shivers violently at the sharp buzz that rips through him, too painful for his liking and he winces at the next snap of Ryan's hips.

“Fuck,” Ray hisses, pushing at Ryan's shoulder. “Fuck, that hurts, pull out,” he continues, and Ryan does immediately, propping himself up on one arm as he reaches down to jack himself off. Ray knocks his hand away and replaces it with his own, stroking tight and quick as Ryan's breath hitches erratically above him.

“ _Shit_ ,” Ryan breathes shakily, his hand suddenly fisting the sheets by Ray's arm as his shoulders hunch. He moans quietly and crashes down onto his elbow, burying his face in Ray's shoulder as he comes in pretty stripes over Ray's hip, hot and sticky against his skin.

Ray stares up at the ceiling as sweat dries on his skin, idly resting his hand on Ryan's ribs as Ryan catches his breath in the crook of Ray's neck. Eventually he shifts to kiss Ray lazily, playfully pulling on his lower lip with his teeth with a smile Ray finds way too endearing.

“Any other experiments you want to try?” Ryan asks.

“Well right now I want to see how fast we can shower,” Ray says. Ryan laughs softly and kisses him again.

“I think we can manage under fifteen minutes.”

“Maybe _you_ can, I've got come in my pubes.”

Ryan laughs harder and Ray smiles, closing his eyes as Ryan shifts above him and starts to climb off the bed.

–-

When they reconvene, Geoff is visibly tired, Jack is surprisingly cheerful, Michael and Gavin are drunk, and Jeremy is twitchy.

“I've had so much caffeine today,” he says when Ray asks.

“It's only, like, nine,” Gavin says - “In the _morning_ ,” Michael adds, swinging an arm over Gavin's shoulders - “How've you had so much?”

“You know, uh, watching horror films at night is not the best idea,” Jeremy replies, and Gavin giggles as Jack laughs.

“You've been up all night?” Geoff asks with an amused grin. “Because of a horror film?”

“Hey, it was scary!” Jeremy protests just as Michael says, “You'd do the exact same thing!”

“Eh, shut up,” Geoff says before turning to Michael and Gavin. “Why the fuck are you two drunk?”

“Well you said last night we could contact each other,” Gavin explains, leaning against Michael. “So we went for bevs, didn't we, boi?”

“Sure did!”

“What, so you've been up all night, too?”

“Yep!”

“Did any of you assholes sleep last night?” Geoff asks.

“Well Ray probably d - “ Jack starts, but Michael interrupts.

“Oh no he fucking didn't!” He shouts, pointing at Ray. “Look at those fucking hickeys!”

“Shut up,” Ray mutters, turning away slightly. Michael laughs and Geoff grins filthily.

“Ray's out getting some action?” He teases, and Ray flips him off.

“What, so you yell at us for bevving but Ray bangs some chick and that's fine?” Gavin asks.

“I wouldn't really say you got yelled at,” Jeremy says, laughing at Gavin dismissive wave.

“Where'd you pick her up?” Geoff asks, resting his forearms on the table and leaning in slightly.

“Nowhere,” Ray answers.

“So really where'd you pick her up?” Jeremy asks.

“You're assuming it was a her,” Ray replies with a smirk, watching as Jeremy's eyes go wide and Geoff's jaw drops. “And these aren't from last night.” They're from this morning, when Ray tried to leave on time and got pulled into a heated make out session that unfortunately he never saw the end of because then he had to _actually_ go.

“Oh my _god_ Ray, you slut!” Michael exclaims, and Ray immediately jerks back.

“What the – how the fuck does that make me a slut?!” He asks.

“I dunno, it just does,” Michael says with a shrug and Ray laughs, shaking his head. “Probably because none of us were getting laid last week.”

“Hey, that's not my fault,” Ray says, raising an eyebrow. “At least my right hand isn't fucking chafed,” he adds.

“No, but I bet something is,” Jeremy whispers, and Geoff and Jack loudly crack up as Gavin giggles hysterically.

–-

Races are a bit different now that Ray knows who's behind the handlebars – now he knows that Gavin's terrible at driving in general, not just on bikes – and it makes the competition a lot more fun.

As it is, Ray's in an early race today, the sun only barely below the horizon when the flag goes and they're off, zipping past each other at ridiculous speeds. Ray inches ahead of Michael and cuts him off at the next corner – Michael flips him off – hunching down to zoom past Jeremy's garish purple-orange monstrosity – which, Ray recently discovered, Jeremy has actually _named_ Rimmy Tim. He falls into place behind Gavin and recognises the bullet holes in the back side panel from the last heist they did – the looking is short-lived because then Gavin drifts way too wide on a corner and ends up skidding out on grass.

Ray's engine revs powerfully between his legs as he races down a straightaway, pulling even with green bike and hounded by white bike. Just ahead is the gleaming white of _Vagabond_ , taunting him with its proximity.

On the second lap Ray sees Jack speed off of that ramp and hears loud engines rev behind him – he glances back to see Jeremy and Alice and tucks in tight to the next corner to, hopefully, stop them from edging past him. The wind rips through his shirt and the pervasive heat of Los Santos summer makes him sweat under the helmet as he turns into the second to last corner, racing past green on the straightaway. He nearly catches up to Ryan before green crosses the finish line but doesn't, and Alice rumbles past him in a mad dash to beat Jeremy as Ray starts braking.

Ray cruises to a stop at the end of the row of bikes, pulling off his helmet and running a hand through his sweaty hair as the sky melts into dark blue above him. He sees Jeremy handing money to Alice, followed by a complicated handshake they must have put together, and closer to the finish line, sees Michael waiting by his bike with crossed arms as Gavin rolls up with one of his headlights knocked off.

Music starts pouring out of the open doors of the bar as people flood in – Ray waves to Michael and Gavin on their way in and tells Jeremy he'll be in soon – the lights of the dance floor flashing rapidly with the quick beat. Most of the racers outside are already gone when Ryan appears in front of Ray.

“Waiting for me?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, y'know,” Ray says with a half-shrug. “Wanted to say hi.”

Ryan grins and tucks his hands into his pockets. “Hi.”

It's Ray's turn to smile as he jerks his head towards the bar. “Wanna go in?”

Ryan glances around the street – empty save for the handful of smokers hanging out by the finish line – and steps a little closer to Ray.

“In a second,” he says, his eyes flicking down to Ray's lips. Ray takes the hint and follows the hand that appears on his neck as Ryan leans down to kiss him almost sweetly.

“Wanted to do that first,” Ryan breathes as he pulls away – Ray gets a hand in his shirt to urge him back down, muffling Ryan's short laugh with his mouth.

They separate with a quiet smack that makes Ray's lips tingle and Ryan glances down at his neck, thumbing over the faint hickeys Ray knows are there. Ray relaxes into the touch and Ryan carefully presses over the bruises, biting his lip.

“You look good with them,” he says, dropping his hand to tuck it in his pocket again.

“You should put more later,” Ray replies, smirking.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” 

–-

Because of the heat, Geoff and Jack have set up tables out the back of the bar, and that's where Ray finds his friends after his brief conversation with Ryan – Ryan himself split from Ray halfway through the crowd, but Ray has no doubt he'll find him later to mark him up like he promised.

“It's fucking hot,” Ray says as he climbs over the bench seat, shoving between Michael and Jeremy and grabbing the extra unopened can of Coke in the middle as he props his elbows on the table. Gavin and Michael are in a very loud argument about – clothes? - and Jeremy's chugging beer. Pretty standard so far.

“No, look – _look_ \- “ Jeremy interjects, wiping his mouth and pointing at Gavin. “If you're just gonna get them ruined, what's the point?”

'Because it looks good!” Gavin protests.

“Who gives a shit if it looks good, it's a waste of money!” Michael shouts.

“It's all about appearance, Michael!”

“No it fucking isn't, Gavin!”

“Well, yeah, it is, isn't it? If you don't look good you won't get hired!”

“Look, no one gives a _shit_ what I wear if I can do the fucking job!”

“What – What's happening?” Ray whispers to Jeremy.

“Buying new clothes for every job you do,” Jeremy replies, equally quietly. “Gavin thinks it makes a better impression.”

“It does!” Gavin exclaims.

“What, so – so you only wear clothes once?” Michael asks, waving wildly in the air. “What kind of dick move is that?!”

“I never said that! I just said for _important_ meetings - “

“He didn't say important,” Jeremy tells Ray.

“ - it looks better if your jeans don't have bloody – scorch marks on them!”

“What's up, bitches?” Lindsay asks, setting down a tray of drinks and grabbing one for herself as she unties her apron, scooting onto the empty bench seat.

“There's no point – thanks,” Michael says as she passes him a drink, “ - There's no point if you just ruin the clothes right afterwards!”

“What are they talking about?” Lindsay asks.

“Eh,” Jeremy says the same time Ray replies, “Nothing important.”

Ray and Jeremy and Lindsay start their own conversation while Michael and Gavin bicker – Jack comes by briefly and leaves right after he figures out the premise of the stupid argument – and Ray ends up laughing so hard he nearly chokes on his Coke. Jeremy thumps him on the back and Lindsay giggles at the ugly noise that wrenches from him.

“There you go, buddy,” Jeremy says while Ray's pulling a face at the backlash of choking on carbonation and Ray gives him a weak thumbs-up.

As more of the night goes on, the amount of people outside barely changes – when Ray came out every table was packed, and now there's still no free tables – and the argument melts into more ridiculous conversation. Geoff and Jack and Lindsay stop by on their breaks and chat for a while before they have to go back inside and attend to the drunk dancing crowd.

When Michael and Gavin and Jeremy have settled in a conversation about a TV show Ray doesn't watch he excuses himself and ventures inside, shouldering past a few people as he makes his way to the bar, scanning the length of it before he sees Ryan at the end, talking animatedly to Lindsay.

“Hey,” Ray says as he slides onto the stool beside Ryan – Ryan pauses and flashes him a smile before finishing his sentence. Ray doesn't hear it because he's too busy stealing Ryan's drink and pouring it down his throat.

“What the fuck?” Ryan asks when Ray sets it back down. “What did I ever do to you?”

Ray shrugs and smiles. “I dunno.”

“Okay, yeah, but what if you got that stuck in your pubes, because, like, that would really fucking hurt,” Lindsay says, and Ray blinks, looking between them.

“Hold on, what the fuck are you talking about?” He asks – they both laugh and Ryan drops a hand below the counter to plant it on Ray's knee.

“Clit piercings,” Lindsay says, as casually as if she were talking about the weather, and laughs again at Ray's silence.

“What, so, what, are you getting one or something?” He asks, and Lindsay shakes her head.

“No, god no. Slept with a girl who did have one, though,” she says cheerfully. “It was pretty hot.” Ray nods in approval.

“Okay, well,” he says, gesturing between them to continue and leaning on one elbow to watch. Ryan's hand stays on his knee.

Eventually Lindsay has to return to work and then Ryan turns to Ray, removing his hand to grab his glass and drink the refill Lindsay gave him a few minutes ago.

“What are you doing here so early?” Ryan asks, raising an eyebrow. “I don't usually see you until midnight.”

“Eh, y'know. They started talking about shit I don't know,” Ray says, and leans in a little closer. He glances down at the swell of Ryan's lower lip and back up to his eyes – Ryan licks his lips and Ray hooks two fingers in his collar to pull him in, licking at the sticky sweet residue of Diet Coke.

When Ray pulls back his gaze slides over Ryan's shoulder to see Lindsay washing glasses at the other end of the bar and looking right at them. She winks at him and pinks up another glasses and Ray feels his cheeks heat a little but doesn't take his hand away.

“It's packed out back,” Ray says.

“I got my car around the corner,” Ryan murmurs.

“Sounds good to me.”

–-

Whatever restraint Ryan had in the bar is completely gone when they're in the backseat, his hands roaming all over Ray and his mouth following, laying bites all down his collarbone. Ray fumbles out the lube and condom from his back pocket and leaves them by his hip as Ryan starts undoing his jeans, pushing up to help Ray awkwardly kick them off.

Ryan kisses him hard and bites harder as he fingers Ray, pressing in with rough, sure thrusts that make Ray wriggle and gasp, shamelessly pushing back against Ryan's hand. He digs his nails into Ryan's back as Ryan mercilessly targets his prostate, nearly making him come right there and then but he backs off before Ray can get anywhere.

“Is this fucking banana?” Ryan asks as he rolls on the condom, sniffing his lube-slick fingers and frowning. “Who the fuck would make banana lube?”

Ray laughs and Ryan shrugs, liberally slicking himself with the last of the lube and lining up. Ray can barely feel the ribs on the condom as he eases in, but he's too busy trying to catch his breath to actually fucking _care_.

Ray starts to prop himself up on his elbows but Ryan plants a hand square on his chest and pushes him back down – and _oh_ Ray likes that a lot more than he should. Ryan pauses for a second, eyes a little wide like he's just realised what he did and Ray deliberately tries to push himself up again, meeting Ryan's eyes to silently try and tell him to do it again. Ryan does. Ray _wants_.

Fuck, he knew he liked it rough, but being held down is a whole new level of shit he didn't know he was into. Or maybe it's less about that and more about the fact that it's _Ryan_ doing it.

So Ryan holds him down while he fucks him with the hand on his chest and another on his hip, shifting his hands as he leans back down to mark up Ray's throat just like he promised, his scruff leaving trails of almost painful heat over the sensitive skin. Ray, for his part, moans and twists and sinks his teeth too hard into Ryan's lip when Ryan hits the best angle, snaking a hand down between them to jerk himself off as Ryan scrapes his teeth over the bolt of his jaw.

The rough denim of Ryan's jeans scrapes harshly over Ray's thighs as his thrusts turn short and snappy and Ray purposely strains against Ryan's hold, whimpering quietly at the hot thrill every push down sends through him.

Ryan's hand goes from restraining to roaming again as Ray gets close, recklessly dragging over his ribs and down to curl fingers around Ray's balls, coaxing him towards the edge. Ray comes with a broken groan and a violent buck of his hips, making an absolute mess on Ryan's abdomen and trembling when the oversensitivity sets in. He'd ask Ryan to keep going but he thinks Ryan knows by now Ray's a little bit of a masochist when it comes to that sort of thing, so he just pants into Ryan's hair and tries to remember to clench around him.

Ryan shudders and buries himself in Ray with a quick snap of his hips moments before he comes, panting hard into Ray's neck as he does. Ryan lightly strokes over the way too sensitive head of Ray's cock to make him squeeze again and Ray whimpers at the touch.

“It stinks of fucking banana,” Ryan grumbles into his skin a few minutes later, once they've kind of caught their breath. It startles a laugh out of Ray and Ryan shifts to pull out, pushing himself up to kneeling and making a face as lube smears over his fingers again while he ties the condom.

“Not a fanana of banana?” Ray asks, and Ryan scowls at him, tossing the condom into the footwell on top of their clothes before settling on his elbows above Ray again.

“No, I am not a fanana,” Ryan says, starting to drop kisses over the new hickeys he made. Ray giggles as Ryan's hair tickles his jaw – Ryan grins against his throat and leans easily into the hand Ray slides into his hair.

“Are you a fanana of driving me home?” Ray asks.

“Stop saying fanana and I will be.”

–-

Michael and Gavin get on like a house on fire – especially when there _are_ things on fire.

It's a whole Michael Bay type explosion, thanks to the sticky bombs Michael littered around the place, and the flames are still roaring when SWAT comes.

Michael and Gavin are already gone, hightailed it out with the cash from the convenience store and probably far northwest by now, probably already drinking. The rest of them stayed behind to distract the cops, and so far Ray's blown out five tyres and shot out two bike engines. He's on the roof of the building opposite and Jeremy's on a balcony a few floors below him, firing off with a machine gun while Ray targets weak points. Jack's hovering on standby with a cargobob a few roofs away and Geoff's in the passenger seat controlling the guns on it, launching rockets at the cluster of cars clumped at the end of the street.

“Five more minutes,” Jack says over the comms.

“You've only got two,” Gavin cheerfully informs them over a sudden, staticky line – he's out of range of the earpieces but he must have managed to get a temporary thing going so he can monitor them; it wouldn't be the first time.

“All right, two, let's fucking go,” Jack says – Ray can practically _hear_ the eye roll – and Ray pulls back from the edge, neatly snapping his bipod up and flipping the sight down as he backs up.

Jack starts flying towards him and Jeremy appears on the ladder at the other end of the roof, jogging over to Ray with a heavy gun thumping against his back.

“Fifty seconds,” Gavin chirps. Ray and Jeremy look at each other and back at the approaching chopper.

“Make a run for it?” Jeremy asks.

“Fuck my life,” Ray replies, catching Jeremy's smile out of the corner of his eyes before they break into a sprint, guns loud on their backs and the gunfire deafening below them.

The chopper holds steady next to the roof as they run, shoes slapping heavy on the rough surface, and Ray nearly loses his footing on a patch of gravel but pushes on - “Thirty,” Gavin says. Jeremy glances at Ray and then they're grabbing the rail on the edge to vault over it, pushing off of the concrete edge to jump to the chopper. It's a weird and weightless and terrifying and quick – Jeremy lands inside the chopper and scrambles to grab Ray as Ray lands hard against the edge of the chopper, only halfway in and his legs dangling in fucking _midair_ as he tries to haul himself in with just his arms. The landing knocks all the breath out of him and his fingers scrabble against smooth metal flooring and cold panic takes over as he starts slipping, the guns on his back pulling him down as Jack spins to fly away and the building explodes in a shower of fire behind them.

He kicks against air and slams his elbow down again and a strong hand wraps around his forearm – Ray looks up to see Jeremy on his back, holding onto a seat with one hand and pulling Ray in with the other, muscles straining in his biceps and forearms as he pulls. Jeremy helps enough for Ray to get a foot in, and from there he pushes himself all the way in – he makes sure to flip off the news chopper before flopping on his front beside Jeremy and resting his cheek against the cool metal as he catches his breath and the chopper evens out.

“Thanks man,” he pants, reaching up to grab a bracket welded to the floor – originally for attaching weapons, but right now a comforting handhold.

“You're welcome,” Jeremy wheezes through huge, gulping breaths, still on his back and still holding on tight to the seat.

“Everyone good back there?” Jack asks over the speaker. Jeremy laughs weakly and Ray joins him, letting the relief flood through his body and relax him.

“Yeah, we're good,” Jeremy says over the comms. “Right, Ray?”

“Apart from the almost falling-out-of-a-chopper thing, yeah,” Ray says, and Jeremy laughs again.

–-

Michael and Gavin are, indeed, already drinking and already attached at the hip when the others get to the rendezvous point – they greet Jeremy with a shot and Geoff with a hug and Jack and Ray with loud whooping.

“That was some excellent flying, Jack,” Geoff says, clapping him on the back as he pops open a can of soda.

“Thanks, Geoff.”

“Dude, we saw what happened!” Michael exclaims, leaning over the table to point at Ray and Jeremy, “You two did a fucking – superhero move!”

“Did we?” Ray asks.

“Yeah, you jumped on a freaking chopper!” Michael says, grinning. “That's fucking _awesome_ , dude!”

“Yeah, well, it fucking _hurt_ ,” Jeremy says, shifting his chair over in the sand – because of course their rendezvous point is a busy beach bar with tables out on the sand and bright tiki torches – to scoot closer to Michael and snag the shot glasses from the centre of the table.

“But it looked cool,” Gavin says, opening something on his phone and turning it to show them the stolen footage from the news chopper. “We should do it again.”

“No,” Ray and Jeremy say in unison, and Geoff cracks up as Michael pours shots.

“If we get enough alcohol in him he'll do anything,” Michael stage-whispers to Gavin and Jeremy groans as he runs his hands over his face.

“They're right,” he says, and Jack laughs.

“Just don't drink, then,” Geoff says.

“I can't refuse alcohol Geoff, you _know_ that,” Jeremy moans, and the table collapses into unrestrained laughter as Jeremy slides the shot towards him.

“I hate you,” he says, glaring at Michael before downing the shot.

\--

Ryan's hand presses over a bruise and Ray winces, gently pushing his wrist away with his free hand.

“Bruised,” he mumbles in the bare space between them and Ryan hums into his mouth, shifting to splay his hand over Ray's side but that hurts too. So Ray pushes his hand again and Ryan pulls away to ruck up his shirt, raising an eyebrow at the extensive bruising on – all over, really, just all over his front and his ribs and an especially dark line of them running across his chest under his pecs.

“Holy fuck, did you get in a fight with Captain America?” Ryan asks, gently brushing his fingers over one of the worse ones. “You look like you got fucking pummelled.”

“Jumped into a chopper,” Ray says, and Ryan cocks his head a little.

“Oh yeah, I saw that,” he says. “It was on the news.”

“See, I'm famous,” Ray says with a grin. “You're sleeping with a celebrity now.”

Ryan chuckles low and lets Ray's shirt fall back down to rest a hand on his hip, leaning in to nose at his throat. “Any perks of that?”

“There are no perks to fucking me,” Ray deadpans, and Ryan moves up to his jaw, still grinning as he trails kisses up to Ray's lips. Ray shifts slightly on Ryan's bike and hooks his fingers through Ryan's belt loops.

“I'd say there's plenty of perks,” Ryan says, his lips catching against Ray's as he speaks.

“Yeah? Like what?” Ray breathes, smiling at the heat in Ryan's gaze.

“Come home with me and I'll show you,” Ryan replies before pressing their lips together – Ray opens willingly, easily, and Ryan squeezes his hips in response. 

–-

Ray pulls Ryan over to his table after a race one night to _actually_ introduce him to his friends – he has to keep in mind that Ryan has no idea his friends are also Fake AH, and his friends have no idea that Ryan is the Mad King. Ryan agrees easily enough to meet them, and Ray drags him over and pulls up a chair before even greeting them.

“This is Ryan,” he says, gesturing to, well, _Ryan_. “He's a friend.”

“Hi Ryan,” Michael says.

“Hey,” Jeremy says, pushing a shot glass over. “Shot?”

“No thanks,” Ryan replies, politely shaking his head. “Don't drink.”

“Ray's turned him to the dark side,” Jeremy says, and looks down at the glass. “Well, I guess that means more for me.” And promptly fills the glass and downs it.

Gavin doesn't say anything, not until Michael pokes him and asks a question and suddenly they're back in whatever heated conversation they were having before Ray came over, something about Gavin's wheels.

It's absolutely chaotic – the layers of the argument accompanied by occasional comment from Geoff or Jack or Lindsay whenever they stop by – and Ryan slots in perfectly, if a little darkly, and by the fourth time he's implied murder Jeremy seems to accept it and just laughs. Ryan calls Lindsay over at one point to back his argument up and she ends up agreeing with Gavin, which divides the table even more and Ray considers switching sides just to see Michael's reaction.

“Okay, okay, fine then, say that you manage to attach the knives,” Ryan says, planting a hand on the table in front of him and raising an eyebrow at Gavin. “How would you use them?”

“Well you'd ram into other people with them!” Gavin exclaims. He's warmed up with the alcohol and ready to argue ridiculous theories with Ryan, not as cautious around him as he was an hour ago. “Just bloody – slash their tyres!”

“That wouldn't work because the force would fuck up _your_ bike,” Ryan explains, tapping his fingers on the table for emphasis.

“No but it _wouldn't_ \- “

“You're such a fucking moron,” Michael sighs, burying his face in his hands. “Gavin, it's _basic_ fucking physics.”

“No, _look_ , you're not listening - “ Gavin starts, breaking off to think about something for a moment.

“Explain it to me, then,” Ryan says, propping his chin on his elbow and cocking an expectant eyebrow. “Explain how knives sticking out of your wheels wouldn't fuck up your bike.”

Gavin starts a halting explanation that gains momentum as Jeremy joins in – Michael vocally disagrees and Ryan gives a whole bunch of counter reasons, shutting down Gavin's arguments as fast as he can make them. It turns loud and chaotic again and there's a slight smile edging around Ryan's mouth as he talks. Ray likes it.

The knife-wheel argument ends with a decisive vote from Geoff and they break into smaller conversations – stupid stories and embarrassing moments that make Ray ugly laugh into his elbow as Gavin turns bright red. Ryan's hand lands on Ray's knee under the table somewhere through Jeremy's story about his mechanic, who was, apparently, “high as _fuck_ all the time”.

Another round of drinks comes as Gavin slips off to the bathroom and as everyone's opening or sipping their refills Ryan squeezes Ray's knee and turns to him.

“You wanna leave?” Ray asks, talking low enough that Michael and Jeremy can't hear him. Ryan shakes his head and smiles.

“No, this is fun,” he says, and Ray grins.

“Told you you'd like them.”

“Look at that, you were right for once.” Ryan's smile stretches to smug and Ray kicks him lightly under the table.

“See if I help you next time you call me,” Ray threatens, and Ryan just grins, shifting slightly closer to press them together more firmly. Ray glances up and freezes at the sudden eye contact he makes with Michael. Michael's eyes flick between them and he smirks knowingly at Ray, simply raising an eyebrow as he sips his beer.

“All right bitches, I'm back,” Gavin declares as he slides in next to Michael, startling Jeremy off of his phone. Ryan puts some space between Ray and him but keeps his hand on Ray's knee.

–-

“So,” Geoff sighs, planting a hand firmly on the table.

“What's up, Geoff?” Jack asks cheerfully. Michael props his chin up with his hand and leans in pointedly, raising an eyebrow. Geoff's shoulders slump and he looks up at them sitting around the table, a reluctant twist to his mouth that either means good news or bad for them.

“So,” he says again, and sighs again.

“What?” Jeremy asks.

“Do...any of you...know anyone we could hire for the next job?” Geoff asks slowly, like it's being dragged out of him.

“What about B-team?” Michael asks while Gavin pulls out his phone.

Geoff shakes his head and collapses in the chair beside him, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand. “I'm already using them for something.”

“Calm down, I'm sure we can find someone,” Jeremy says, and Geoff makes a conflicted “agh” noise.

“It's just - “ Geoff moves to rest both his elbows on the table, looking down at his hands. “I hate bringing in people without – background checking them or whatever. But we need an extra set of hands. So – does anyone know anyone?”

“What kind of anyone?” Michael asks.

“Merc type.”

“Everyone I know's already busy,” Gavin says.

“Yeah, I don't – I don't have anybody,” Michael says, waving his hand uselessly in the hair. “Not, uh, not very good at those connections.”

Geoff raises an eyebrow at Jeremy and Jeremy just frowns and shakes his head, shrugging slightly. Gavin keeps tapping on his phone and Jack pulls out his own. Ray stays slouched in his seat, arms crossed.

“I know someone,” he says, and Geoff perks up, looking at him expectantly.

“Who?” He asks.

“I, uh, I can get the Mad King,” Ray says, and Michael and Jeremy's heads jerk up.

“Oh god, I forgot about that,” Geoff groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Jack, you got anything?”

“Nope.”

“God fucking – Ray, are you sure you don't know anyone else?”

“Not anyone good.” Ray shrugs and lifts his hands at the accusing looks Michael and Jeremy are shooting him. “What, he's helped us out before!”

“He's still a famous psychopath!” Jeremy protests.

“He's an expensive psychopath,” Geoff groans into his hands, sighing heavily.

“Are – Geoff, we're not getting the King, are we?” Gavin asks, looking intently concerned.

“We'll have to, buddy, if we want to do this job.”

“Well then let's just not do the job.”

“We have to do the job,” Geoff says.

“I gotta say, not 100% on board,” Michael says, glancing at Ray. “But I'll try it.”

Geoff groans non-stop for a solid minute before slapping his hand on the table and straightening up, looking at Ray with clear reluctance.

“Tell him to meet us in the warehouse,” he says. “Alone.” 

–-

“Heyo,” Ryan says as he picks up his phone, pausing his game to hold it better against his ear. “What's up?”

“Not much,” Ray says. “Do you have any discounts?”

Ryan raises an eyebrow at his TV and smiles slightly. “Well, there's the Halloween special and the Fourth of July two-for-one. Sometimes there's a Columbus Day bargain in there.”

Ray laughs. “Anything going on right now?”

“Well,” Ryan dithers, “for you, I'm sure we could work something out. Why?”

“Ramsey wants to hire you.”

“Huh. Really?”

“Yep.”

“Didn't realise Ramsey was cheap,” Ryan teases. Ray laughs again.

“He doesn't know I'm asking this. But he's a little...apprehensive and shit about hiring you, so I thought maybe I could...”

“Sweeten the deal?”

“Yeah.”

Ryan thinks for a moment and there's shuffling on Ray's side of the line.

“Will you be on this job?” He asks.

“Yeah, all of us will.”

“Hm. I'm interested.”

“It's a heist kind of thing.”

“I think we could work something out,” Ryan says. “You and me.”

“Yeah?”

“Tell Ramsey he can knock a...fuck it, a third off.”

“I'm worth that much?” Ray asks, something sly to his voice and Ryan grins.

“Well, I'd say you're worth a lot more,” Ryan says. “But I gotta keep a reputation somehow.”

“Shut up. What's my end of the deal?”

Ryan stretches one arm out and bites his lip as he thinks, exhaling sharply into the phone.

“I'll think about it,” he says. “Text me the details?”

“Already typing.” 

–-

Ryan walks into the warehouse fully suited up and is met with six other masked guys, some with hoods pulled up to shadow their face. He recognises Ray and Ray smiles at him, stepping forward to turn and introduce him to the group.

“Fake AH, Mad King. Mad King, Fake AH,” he says, gesturing between Ryan and the rest of the group.

“Ramsey,” Ramsey says, his voice low and almost growly, stepping forward and holding out a gloved hand to Ryan. Ryan shakes it sharply and inclines his head in acknowledgement, scanning the guys behind Ramsey to assess their potential threat. There's Mogar with that ever-present hockey mask, cocking a shotgun as he stares Ryan down. Next to him is a smaller, buffer guy – Doolz, Ryan thinks – in a tourist hockey mask, arms crossed and chest puffed out to seem intimidating. Ryan's not foolish enough to think he _shouldn't_ be threatened – the bulge of muscle on Doolz's biceps looks like it could pack a real punch.

The next table over, there's a taller, slimmer guy with a hoodie up and no mask as far as Ryan can tell – he can see the very edge of the guy's chin – standing next to an open laptop and tapping on the keyboard with quick strokes. Beside him is Pattillo in his distinctive grey mask, staring evenly at Ryan and pointedly keeping a hand on the grip of his holstered pistol.

“What have we got, Vav?” Ramsey asks gruffly, turning to look at the slim guy.

Vav shakes his head and pulls out his phone – a realisation hits Ryan like a fucking truck and he does a double take at the phone and yeah, he recognises that, even without the shitty grainy filter of a security camera.

“You're fountain pen guy!” Ryan exclaims, pointing at Vav. “You're fucking – GoldenPussy!”

His outburst brings everyone to a halt – Vav freezes and Mogar aims his shotgun as Pattillo raises his pistol – Ramsey holds a hand up to stop them and tilts his head to consider Ryan, glancing between him and Ray.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ramsey asks, but Ryan ignores him, scrutinising Vav. Vav shifts enough that Ryan can see his mouth and yeah, he recognises that. He recognises his build, too, it's definitely GoldenPussy.

“He's fucking GoldenPussy!” Ryan shouts, and Ramsey pulls a pistol, stepping back to point it at Ryan. Vav doesn't look up. Ray's arm shoots out and slams across Ryan's chest to hold him back when he tries to step forward into Ramsey's space.

“Calm the fuck down,” Ray says, glaring at them both. “Both of you.” Ryan shifts again and Ray thumps his fist hard against his chest as a warning.

“Tell me what the fuck you're talking about,” Ramsey says coolly, dangerously, deliberately clicking the safety off.

“Chill the fuck out,” Ray says, and in a move that surprises Ryan and apparently the rest of the room, he reaches out and slaps Ramsey's gun down. There's a tense moment of silence that feels a lot like a standoff before someone speaks.

“Wait, is GoldenPussy from the...Bond films?” Doolz asks quietly, and everyone's head whips to him. “A mashup? Like...MoonBall?”

“MoonBall?” Ramsey asks.

“Yeah, I worked with a hack called MoonBall,” Doolz says, and Ryan cocks his head as he tries to place Doolz's voice. “Who was...a lot like Vav, now that I think about it.”

“Vav, have you seriously worked with the Mad King before?” Ramsey asks. “And somehow didn't tell me?”

“It was just a quick hack!” Vav exclaims, high-pitched and _British_ and Ryan would recognise _that_ voice anywhere. “It wasn't anything big!”

“How the fuck didn't you tell us?!” Ramsey shouts.

“It wasn't important or anythin'!” Vav protests.

“Gavin?” Ryan asks, and everyone in the room freezes. “You're fucking Gavin?!”

Mogar snaps his fingers and points accusingly at Ryan, letting the shotgun hang by his side. “You're Ray's boyfriend!” He shouts, and heads swivel back to Ryan.

“He's not my boyfriend,” Ray says, and points back at Mogar. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Ryan?” Doolz asks, and holy _shit_ that's _Jeremy_.

“ _Jeremy_?!”

“Okay, everyone hold the fuck up - “ Ramsey tries, but everyone's already talking over him.

“There's no way that's Ryan - “

“ _Jack_?!”

“What the _hell_ \- “

“Jack how the everloving _fuck_ are you hiding that beard?!”

“Look, just - “

“I absolutely refuse to believe Gavin is a hacker.”

“Trust me, no one wants to believe it - “

“Oh fuck you, Michael!”

“Michael?!”

“Okay everyone shut the fuck up!”

“ _Michael_?!”

“I - “

A sudden burst of loud gunfire abruptly ends the yelling and Ryan glares at Ramsey as he drops his hands from his ears. Ramsey just looks around before clicking the safety back on, ignoring the bullets he just shot into the ground.

“All of you idiots, shut up,” Ramsey orders. “Mad King, or whatever your name is - “

“Give it up, Geoff, he already knows who we are,” Michael says. Ramsey – _Geoff_ – spins on his heel and tosses his hands up in the air.

“He didn't know who _I_ was!” He exclaims, his voice breaking into that higher Geoff pitch that Ryan recognises. “You asshole!”

Michael just laughs and Geoff sighs, turning back to Ryan.

“Take the mask off,” he says, and Ryan crosses his arms.

“Take off yours first,” he counters.

“What the fuck, no,” Geoff replies, gesturing around him. “We outnumber you, take yours off.”

“No.”

“Oh for fuck's sake,” Ray sighs, reaching up to untie his mask and pull it away from his face. “That good enough?”

“No, he already knows you,” Geoff says, and Michael shakes his head and tugs his off.

“Okay, there,” he says, and Geoff waves a hand at Ryan.

Ryan pulls his mask off and stuffs it into a pocket, running his hand through his hair to fix the mess it must surely be.

“Holy dickballs, it is Ryan,” Geoff says, eyes wide.

“No shit, it sounds like him,” Michael says, rolling his eyes.

“I was a little distracted by the mask, okay?!” Geoff shrieks, and Jeremy laughs.

“I think his face might be a little more distracting to certain people,” Michael replies, looking pointedly at Ray.

“Go fuck yourself,” Ray snaps, not unkindly, and Michael laughs brightly.

–-

Ryan's discount involves Ray spending a weekend with him and Ray readily agrees, already pulling out a small duffle bag by the time Ryan hangs up.

The job with Ryan and Fake AH isn't for another two weeks, and Ray's already done his part of the setup – all that's left now is Gavin's and Jeremy's little undercover stint to get blueprints – so he tells Geoff he's unavailable for anything this weekend and waits outside his building for Ryan.

Ryan picks him up in his fucking sweet Zentorno and raises an eyebrow as Ray pushes his bag into the backseat - “You've got weapons in there, right?” “'Course, who the fuck do you think I am?” - and where Ray expects Ryan to turn towards the beach he doesn't, instead heading more inland.

They're in a slightly richer area when Ryan turns into a garage attached to a block of flats and goes up ramps until he has to swipe a card to get access to a certain floor of it, and as the metal doors close behind them Ray realises he recognises some of these vehicles.

“Where are we?” He asks, unbuckling as Ryan reverses into a spot.

“Well, y'know, I figured you should see my actual place,” Ryan says, glancing at Ray before he cuts the engine. “Unless you prefer the Vespucci place?”

Ray laughs and shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “Thank god that was a hideout, I thought you were doing a whole, like, minimalist thing.”

Ryan laughs quietly and shakes his head. “You'll be glad to know this place is actually furnished.”

Ray follows Ryan to the door, which leads to a hallway with two doors, and Ryan takes the second one, unlocking it as Ray peers curiously at the other door.

“Who lives there?” He asks.

“Weapons storage,” Ryan replies, shouldering open the door and stepping back to usher Ray in.

Ray stops dead in his tracks the moment the door closes behind him, struck by the fucking _view_ Ryan's got through the big windows – it feels like he's looking out over the entire city, and that's just from across the room.

“Jesus Christ, you've got penthouse?” He asks, trying to take in all the glittering lights of Los Santos.

“It was the most private one I could get,” Ryan says somewhat sheepishly, moving to stand beside Ray. “For the vehicles and all.”

“Jesus,” Ray breathes.

“There's a house in the suburbs if you prefer,” Ryan says, glancing at him. Ray shakes his head and grins, picking up his bag again.

“No way man, I want to experience the penthouse life.”

Ryan gestures at the flat and shrugs. “Go for it. There's a spare room last door on the right if you want.”

“Where's your room?”

Ryan hesitates only a moment before answering.

“First door on the left.”

So Ray dumps his bag and gets roped in to help with dinner because Ryan insists on cooking - “I've already got all the shit here, so why not?” - and then _has_ dinner with Ryan. Afterwards they relocate to the living room with snacks and soda Ryan pulls out of a cupboard and Ray finds out Ryan's been on a Far Cry kick recently so they end up playing that for hours.

And then they just – go to bed. Just to sleep. Nothing at all happens sex-wise and it's nice. Ray steals Ryan's blanket and Ryan kicks him lightly in the shin and takes it right back and muffles Ray's laughter with his mouth in what Ray realises, two seconds later, is just a goodnight kiss.

–-

“You know you don't have to be here,” Ryan says over lunch the next day, leaning against the kitchen counter with half a sandwich in his hand. “I mean, I know I said a weekend but, you don't have to if you don't want to.”

“Too bad, I already cleared my plans.” Ray says through a mouthful of bread. Ryan rolls his eyes and Ray swallows before he speaks again. “And I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be.”

“Didn't think you would be but - “ Ryan shrugs and knocks Ray's foot with his own. “Just checking.”

Ray nods and then deliberately stuffs a ridiculous huge bite into his mouth just to see the face Ryan pulls.

“Fucking animal,” Ryan accuses, and Ray holds out a thumbs up as he starts working on trying to swallow.

–-

Saturday night Ryan proposes a roadtrip and Ray agrees because why the fuck wouldn't he? He drops a rifle into the footwells of the backseat and Ryan grins, taking one hand off the wheel to rest it on the gearstick.

“I like a man who's prepared,” he says, and Ray laughs as he buckles himself in.

“Always am, Ryan,” he replies, raking his eyes deliberately over Ryan's body. “You know that.”

–-

Ryan takes them up by Zancudo and the drive is really fucking pretty – he chooses the coast road, and the night's clear enough for them to see the stars as they speed down the near-empty motorway, crashing waves to their left and grassy hills on their right. Ray turns up the music and rolls down the windows and settles in, enjoying the smooth purr of the Zentorno as it races over asphalt.

When they get near Zancudo, Ryan takes to a hill road, winding up bumpy road to get to a hidden tourist viewpoint, pulling to the side of the road before the expanse of the cliff. The fort is to their right on the other side of another hill and there's trees lining this road, hanging over Ryan's car and almost framing the bit of ocean they can see from here. There's a party boat out on the water, far enough from them that Ray can't even see its name.

The breeze blows through the car and Ray can't resist curling his fingers into Ryan's jacket to pull him in, crushing their lips together as the car purrs beneath them. Ryan wraps his fingers around Ray's wrist and just holds on as he kisses him.

“You wanna get closer?” Ryan breathes between kisses, and Ray glances out at the view – it's a gorgeous view, really, nothing like the city at all and Ray thinks he should come up here more often – before speaking.

“You totally brought me up here for sex, didn't you?” He asks, and Ryan's silence is _badly_ telling.

“I'll admit that was my original idea,” he says slowly, and Ray laughs quietly. “But it is a nice view.”

“I did say I was yours for the weekend,” Ray says. “For all your wicked plans.”

“We don't have to - “

Ray cuts him off with a kiss, more intent behind it now and he thinks Ryan knows what he's about to say.

“Yours,” Ray insists, reaching down to undo his seatbelt. “Do what you will.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.” Ray makes sure to pop the 'p' and Ryan seems to trust him, not replying in favour of kissing.

Ray thinks maybe they'll move to the backseat but then Ryan pulls back to shimmy out of his jacket and shoves it into the backseat before bodily urging Ray over the gearbox, fucking _manhandling_ him to sit on his lap and Ray can't help the hot shiver that sends through him. He gladly straddles Ryan in the slightly cramped driver's seat – Ryan fiddles in the footwell with his feet for a moment before the seat slides back the few more inches it can to give Ray more room – and Ryan tugs him back down to press kisses down his jaw, moving to his throat as he shoves his hands down the back of Ray's jeans.

“So what was your idea?” Ray asks, threading a hand through Ryan's hair as Ryan gets to his lips again, biting and scraping and licking in with quick swipes of his tongue.

“How 'bout I just show you?”

And that's how Ray ends up with his jeans halfway down his thighs and Ryan's fingers up his ass with the lube Ryan put in the glovebox before they left – dirty motherfucker, ready like a fucking Boy Scout and when Ray tells him this Ryan just nips his lip and pointedly pulls out the lube packet in Ray's back pocket, flicking it against his hip before tossing it into the passenger seat. Ray has to admit he's got a point.

Ryan gets him amazingly close and then pulls out and Ray honest-to-god whines, thighs still trembling from the almost orgasm and his fingers still digging into Ryan's shoulder.

“Trust me,” Ryan whispers against his lips and Ray nods shakily – fuck, he can still feel pre-come rolling down his cock – and Ryan kisses him again before pulling back to move Ray.

He gets Ray to turn around on his lap and Ray would offer to take off the jeans but he's pretty sure Ryan _wants_ them on – kinky little shit he is, like this is a quickie after a race and Ray likes the idea a whole lot – and he braces his hands against the dashboard as Ryan pulls him down into place, ass-to-thigh, knees-to-seat, before easing his fingers back in. Ray kind of hates this position – kind of hates being on top, really – mostly because he thinks he looks stupid like this, but Ryan seems to like it so Ray'll try it again. He's finding out more and more often these days that it doesn't really matter what he's doing if it's with Ryan.

“Shirt off,” Ryan says, rucking up the back of his shirt and Ray helps him pull it off, tossing it carelessly to the side as Ryan corkscrews his fingers and makes him groan. Ryan's fingers pause as an unzipping noise suddenly bursts through the car and the next thing Ray feels is the hot weight of Ryan's dick against his ass. Ryan grunts and fits his hand to Ray's waist again to steady him as he curls his fingers, rubbing deliberately over Ray's prostate.

Ryan shifts and his mouth appears on Ray's spine, pressing kisses up it until he gets to the nape of his neck, the heat of his breath not helping the sweat Ray can feel gathering on his skin.

“My original idea was no condom,” Ryan rumbles into his skin, dropping another almost-sweet kiss on the crook of neck and shoulder. “But do you want one?”

“No,” Ray says immediately, rocking down slightly on Ryan's fingers. Ryan grins and bites a little, slowly twisting his fingers.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” he says – Ray won't – and pulls back, only spending another minute or two opening Ray up before he slides his fingers out.

Without the slick noise of lube all Ray can hear is his own panting, seemingly loud and harsh in the narrow space of windshield and dashboard. Ryan's other hand slips away and Ray hears the click of a bottle and then the now-familiar noise of Ryan slicking himself up, closing the bottle as he thumbs the excess over Ray's hole, dipping in to tease.

“You good?” He asks as he lines up, the head of his cock pressing up hot against Ray's hole. In response Ray just rocks down and that's all Ryan needs, apparently, because he starts pushing in, smoothing his dry hand up Ray's back as Ray sinks down.

Ray forgets all about his reluctance for his position as Ryan starts fucking him, planting a hand firmly on his back and drying the other on something before gripping Ray's hip with tacky fingers. And _shit_ Ray's glad he let Ryan do this because it's fucking _hot_ like this, fucking himself down on Ryan's lap and held down like he's nothing – fuck, the restrained power in Ryan's hands makes Ray hot all over and he outright _moans_ , dropping his head to focus on the smooth roll of his hips. His dick twitches and Ryan's making all sort of noise behind him, short huffs and low moans as Ray rides him.

At some point Ryan's hands stop pushing and start _pulling_ , urging Ray back to a sort of straight position – Ray can't comfortably lean back against Ryan's chest here – and on a particularly hard thrust the hand on Ray's chest slips up to his throat and Ray's hand reflexively flies up to grab Ryan's wrist and – and something rushes hot through him and he holds Ryan's hand there, pressing it to his throat. Ryan's thrusts stutter and pause and he tentatively curls his fingers around Ray's windpipe, a question more than a reaction. Ray nods and drops his hand to steady himself against the dashboard again and Ryan groans attractively behind him, fucking in suddenly harder, faster – he gently squeezes Ray's throat and gets a hand around to jack him off, making him writhe between his hands.

It's over surprisingly quick after that – Ray's pathetic moaning turns into pathetic whimpering as he trembles under Ryan's hands, rocking desperately down on his cock and back up into his fist, each hot thrill of arousal heightened by every soft press on his throat and Ray chokes on his gasp as he comes all over himself, splattering up his abdomen and a little on the dashboard as Ryan's dick pushes against his prostate.

Ray's still shaking and barely finished coming when Ryan _pulls out_ – Ray whines brokenly, half-dazed with endorphins – and Ryan's hands leave. One reappears on Ray's back and pushes him over again and he uses the other, by the sound of it, to jerk himself off, panting in time and biting back a muffled moan as he comes on Ray's back, hot stripes landing just above his ass and rolling down the dip of his spine.

“Fuck,” Ryan sighs, still a thread of a whimper to his voice as his hand slows. “Oh fuck, Ray.”

“Ry, can you - “ Ray breaks off in a shudder as Ryan suddenly takes him in hand again, rubbing over the sensitive head.

Ryan rests his forehead against Ray's shoulder blades as he fondles him, helping him come down until the oversensitivity threatens to hurt and Ray endures the familiar sting for a few seconds before pushing Ryan's hand away. Their combined panting fills the air as come dries on Ray's skin, uncomfortable but bearable as he looks out at the ocean.

“It is a nice view,” he says.

“I've got a pretty nice view right here,” Ryan mutters, and Ray laughs.

“Shut up,” he says, and Ryan's arm slides to settle around his waist.

“Can you turn around again?” Ryan asks, tilting to rest his cheek against Ray's spine.

“That sounds like work.”

“I wanna kiss you,” Ryan says, very matter-of-factly, and well, Ray can't argue with that reasoning.

Ryan helps him turn around again – Ray still thinks he look stupid, but Ryan's expression shows nothing but satisfaction when Ray settles on his thighs again, jeans still down. Ryan pulls him down to kiss him slowly, sweetly, dragging a hand up his front to curl around his shoulder. His thumb brushes over the base of Ray's throat and he pulls away, glancing down at Ray's neck.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks, and Ray shakes his head. “Didn't know you were into that,” he continues with a sly smile, and Ray shrugs.

“Me neither,” he says. Ryan laughs softly and kisses him again. Ray's content to miss the view for this.

–-

“All right, so.” Drinks slide across the table to various people, tabs popping and carbonation hissing as they settle into their seats. “Million dollars, but with every blowjob, you have to have four fingers up your arse the entire time.”

As usual, Geoff's the first one to jump in.

“It's not _terrible_ ,” he says, and a murmur of agreement ripples around the table but -

“Spit or lube?” Ryan asks, raising an eyebrow at Gavin.

“Nothin',” Gavin says, taking another sip of beer before continuing.

“Wait, _what_?” Michael asks, leaning in dramatically.

“Completely dry.”

“Hold on a second,” Geoff says, “wait a fucking second, dry? That's gonna fucking burn.”

“Can confirm,” Ray mutters, and Jeremy and Ryan burst into laughter.

“Depends how badly you want that blowjob,” Michael says.

“Okay, but it's not necessarily _unpleasant_ ,” Ryan reasons. “I mean, if you hit the right spot...”

“How the fuck would you know?!” Ray exclaims, turning to Ryan because look, Ray's never had his fingers up _Ryan's_ ass. Ryan goes utterly silent and the table erupts into laughter.

“Get fucking _got_ , Ryan!” Michael cackles, banging a fist on the table as Ryan just blinks at Ray. Geoff hollers something similar and Jeremy can't stop wheezing with laughter – Michael thumps him on the back and he starts coughing, then.

“Oh my god, I can't believe that just happened!,” Geoff says through hiccoughing giggles.

“Ryan, you haven't had anything up your arse?” Gavin asks curiously, and Ryan flushes slightly as Ray starts laughing.

“What, you wanna be the first?” Ryan counters, turning to pin Gavin with a cool stare. Gavin pulls a face and shakes his head almost violently, pulling back from the table as he frowns.

“I'm happy enough to stay out of your arse,” he says, and Ryan sits back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“I will pay you twenty bucks to get something up his ass,” Geoff says to Ray – that sets Michael and Jeremy off again and Gavin's delighted giggling joins theirs – and Ray just smirks and holds out a hand.

“The backroom's free, right?”

“What the fuck, Ray?!” Ryan asks.

“Chill out, I've done worse for less,” Ray says casually, and Ryan jerks back as Geoff snorts into his elbow.

“I wouldn't take it,” Jeremy declares while Ryan glares at Ray, slapping a hand firmly against the table.

“Not for a million dollars?” Gavin asks.

“Not worth it,” Jeremy replies, stretching his arms up and running a hand over his hair. “Wouldn't do it.”

“Michael?”

“Eh, I guess,” Michael says, shrugging. “I mean, you'd get used to it, wouldn't you?”

“Gavin loves things up his ass,” Geoff says, grinning at the offended squeak that gets him. “Don't you, Gavvy?”

“Oh that's right, I forgot, Geoff fingers you, like, all the time,” Michael says.

“Geoffrey!” Gavin protests.

“Anyway, I gotta go, so - “ Geoff slips away with a wave and leaves Gavin to Michael's teasing and Ryan gives up his glaring to make fun of Gavin.

–-

“Get down!” Ray yells over gunfire, raising his gun again to shoot back. Ryan stands shoulder-to-shoulder with him and doesn't move, just snaps in another clip and shoots through the windows of the two Jeeps the enemies are using for cover. They're backed against the wall of a parking garage, some low concrete barriers around them and at least ten guys trying to gun them down. Ray shoots Ryan a glare but Ryan's not backing down – he doesn't know why the fuck Ray would want him to get down anyway, they're outnumbered already as it is.

“Get the fuck down!” Ray shoves Ryan down with a firm hand on his shoulder and Ryan goes crashing onto his knees, wildly flinging an arm out to stop his overbalancing as he shifts to get on one knee. Ray reloads his clip and resteadies the gun on his shoulder before shooting again, spraying the area in front of them and exploding one of the Jeeps parked there as enemy cover.

Ryan's about to push himself up again when Ray drops to the ground, forcefully tugging Ryan down to prone a second before a line of bullets would have hit him and Ryan pales as he covers his head with his hands, copying Ray, watching as the wall behind them gets obliterated with machine gun bullets.

“What the fuck is happening?!” He shouts over the noise, and Ray points to his earpiece.

“Michael's happening!” He yells back, and Ryan feels a little foolish for trying to disobey earlier – of _course_ Ray has intel Ryan won't, he's got the fucking earpiece that connects to the rest of the crew.

The gunfire abruptly stops and it's blissfully silent for a moment – Ray cocks his head slightly and nods a little before lifting his eyes to Ryan.

“They need me in the chopper,” he says. “Meet us at Vinewood.”

“Gonna leave me all alone?” Ryan teases.

“You bet,” Ray replies before pushing himself up.

–-

Ryan discovers that even though the job went a little sideways – hence the whole stuck-in-a-parking-garage thing – the Fake AH loves to fucking celebrate, and Ryan gladly accepts the invitation.

He also discovers that Fake AH celebrations tend to involve a _lot_ of alcohol. There's various glasses littered on the table, half-drunk experimental concoctions and forgotten soda shots with empty bottles gathered on the floor next to one table leg. Jeremy and Michael are matching each other shot for shot and Geoff's gradually switching from straight whiskey to Diet Coke as Jack goes the other way – there's chatter all around and someone loaded up a game of Trials so there's four controllers getting passed around after each race; Ryan snags one from a hiccoughing Gavin and sits back next to Ray, who glances at him with a sly smirk and deliberately revs his bike on-screen.

Jack wins by a half second in front of Ray and then the controllers switch again and Ryan gets pulled into a wild conversation about water balloons with Gavin and Jeremy as Ray and Michael pick a head-to-head race, joining Geoff and Jack's conversation as they play.

The night flows like syrup, everyone gradually moving around the room and everything melting together in a pleasant blend of easy fun that's only helped by the slurring Jeremy develops somewhere around shot #10. Ray hands Ryan a new Diet Coke and clinks their cans together before downing half of his, grinning at Ryan's cocked eyebrow before turning back to his game with Michael, collapsing into laughter as Michael yells incoherently.

As night edges into dawn everyone starts winding down – Geoff and Jack retreat to their rooms and Michael half-heartedly starts cleaning up, turning off the Xbox as Gavin tries to gather all the glasses on the table. Jeremy lies down on a sofa and claps a hand over his face, resting his head on a cushion.

“You want help getting to your room?” Ryan asks, standing over Jeremy and looking down at him.

“Jus' leave me here,” Jeremy says, hiccoughing afterwards. “I'll be fine.”

Ryan shrugs and steps away, turning to face Michael, Gavin, and Ray.

“You staying?” He asks Ray, watching Michael and Gavin to make sure they don't fall over.

“You can stay, Ry-bread,” Gavin says, giggling as Michael slings an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in. “There's room for you.”

“Yeah, just don't bang too loudly,” Michael cackles – Ray flips him off and Michael just grins in response, lifting his hand from Gavin's shoulder to kind-of pat Ray's.

“I doubt Geoff could wake up to anything right now,” Ryan comments, and Michael snorts.

“You're prolly right,” he says, pointing at Ryan.

“We should get to bed, boi,” Gavin says.

“All right, I gotta corral his drunk ass into bed now,” Michael says, ignoring Gavin's half-hearted protest as they start walking towards the hallway. Gavin waves goodbye and Ray rolls his eyes but waves back, stuffing his hands into his pockets when they disappear down the hallway. Jeremy groans quietly from the sofa.

“So, where you wanna go?” Ray asks, looking expectantly at Ryan. “My place or yours?”

“I don't know,” Ryan muses, looking down at Jeremy. “I feel kinda bad just leaving them here.”

“They do this, like, every weekend,” Ray counters, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, now I don't feel as bad,” Ryan says, quick to step over the empty bottles to follow Ray to the front door. 

–-

“Want a ride?” Ray asks, swinging his bike keys around a finger and raising an eyebrow at Ryan - Ryan watches the wooden rose token attached to the keys spin around and then glances down at Ray's bike.

Ryan steps closer and plants a hand on the side of the bike – still warm from the race – and Ray grins knowingly as Ryan looks back at him. He raises a hand to press it to Ray's, easily palming the keys from him.

“What's the catch?” He asks. Ray tugs him in by the edges of his jacket and presses his lips to Ryan's – Ryan lets himself get a little swept away by the familiarity of it, the sweet scent of cherry outweighed by the heavy stench of gasoline rising around them.

“I get to ride yours,” Ray says, smirking slightly as he opens his hand to reveal Ryan's keys, one finger through the keyring and two slim fingers still curled around the black fob. Ryan gapes for a split second and Ray slips out from between him and the bike, tossing Ryan's keys up and catching them in the other hand.

“Fucking thief,” Ryan accuses, reflexively patting his jacket pocket as if that'll help him remember when Ray stole the keys from him.

“Maybe if you win I'll give it back.”

–-

Ray's bike isn't nearly as engine-heavy as Ryan's and it takes corners amazingly well even if the lack of centralised weight means Ryan has to handle it a bit more precisely than his own. It takes him a few minutes but eventually he gets the hang of how to lean into turns with a slimmer bike. It also explains why Ray's always weaving between other racers – the thing's nimble as _shit_ compared to Ryan's bike.

Up ahead, Ray turns onto the motorway and Ryan follows – it's kind of weird to be behind his own lights, but he's getting used to seeing the bright _Vagabond_ gleaming under streetlights. He catches up to pull even with Ray, revving his engine as they break past late-night traffic and into the open lanes of the wide Los Santos motorways.

Ray took to Ryan's bike like a fucking _pro_ and now it seems completely natural to glance over and see Ray on a big black bike – would almost seem completely ordinary if it wasn't for _Vagabond_.

As the cars thin out and the road gets rougher, Ray slips into an exit lane and leads them off the motorway and up into the Vinewood hills, speeding past fancy houses and quiet gardens to wind up into dirt roads, kicking up dust and gravel behind them. There's enough room for Ryan to pull up beside him and he hunches down a little to edge past Ray, enjoying way too much how quickly he can control this bike – he doesn't need to put his whole weight, or even very much at all, into it to turn, just a nudge and it'll go.

Eventually he pulls back to let Ray guide them through faded paths – Ray clearly has a destination, and Ryan's curious where they'll end up.

–-

They end up on the flat top of a hill – it's clearly a tourist spot, a small area cleared out and covered in gravel as a makeshift car park – and Ryan reaches it a minute behind Ray because the roads got too narrow and he had to fall further behind to avoid crashing right into Ray.

“Took you long enough,” Ray calls as Ryan brakes and dismounts, tugging off his helmet to shoot Ray a look.

“You're welcome for not crashing into you,” Ryan replies, hooking the helmet onto the handlebars and walking over to his bike, standing behind it and crossing his arms as he faces Ray, who's sitting backwards on it and leaning against the handlebars, grinning a little too wide to be anything innocent. Ryan narrows his eyes and cocks his head, scrutinising Ray as he tries to figure out what he's planning.

“You're planning something,” he says, and Ray bites his lip as he glances around – as if anyone's up here this late besides them – before his hands drop to his belt, Ryan's gaze with them.

“Maybe,” he says as he unbuckles the belt. Ryan doesn't respond so Ray keeps going, popping the button and unzipping the fly _tortuously_ slowly like the fucking tease he is. Ryan ignores the sudden flush that simmers through him and keeps his eyes intently focused on Ray's hands like he can predict what they're about to do.

Ray's hand ease the fly open a little more to reveal something dark blue underneath, and the intricate lace scalloped edge tells Ryan exactly what they are and his breath catches at the sight. Ray smirks and Ryan's fingers itch with the urge to _touch_ , to spread Ray's pretty thighs and get between them.

“What do you want to do?” He asks hoarsely.

“Surprise me.”

–- 

“Geoff offered me a spot in the crew,” Ryan says.

Ray snorts and knocks ash off the joint. “Huh. You considerin' it?”

Ryan shifts his feet to perch more comfortably on the edge of the boot of his car as he takes the toke from Ray, idly watching it burn before lifting it to his mouth.

“Not really,” he says truthfully. “I don't know.”

“Don't do firefights?” Ray asks, plucking the joint from Ryan's fingers.

“Well - “ Ryan chuckles softly and shrugs, looking out at the stars as smoke blows across them. “you've kind of changed that.”

Ray smiles and knocks Ryan's shoulder with his. “Then what?”

“Does Geoff care about...employee relationships?” Ryan asks, and Ray looks up at him with a spark of amusement in his eyes.

“Why, Ryan Haywood, are you asking me to be your boyfriend?” He asks with a thread of laughter in his voice. And, well, Ryan's been sleeping exclusively with Ray for – what, a year now? - so why not?

“Maybe I am,” he replies. Ray hums in acknowledgement and takes another drag before the joint burns his fingertips, dropping it to the damp ground to crush it under his heel as he huffs smoke out through his nose.

“Geoff's pretty chill about personal shit,” Ray says. Ryan leans down to press his lips under Ray's jaw, where his pulse thuds hotly through his veins.

“Then I'm definitely asking,” he says into Ray's skin.

“I'm definitely saying yes.”

Ryan grins against warm skin and Ray slides a hand into his hair to pull him up for a kiss that tastes like smoke and cherry

–-

With Ryan, Fake AH is more powerful then ever before. They're a great team now, and pretty much all the gaps are filled. They've got Gavin for tech – the guy's a social dumbass most of the time, but he knows his way around computers, that much's obvious. Heavy-duty security systems are no longer a problem. And with more people comes more firepower and more ridiculous ideas, and with Gavin's motivation to carry out these ideas and Ryan's eagerness to fuel that particular fire, they get their hands on planes pretty damn quickly, to Geoff's despair and Jack's joy. The military base is now an option and now that they've settled down as a crew, as a unit, they can start making stronger, better connections to other gangs.

They work together almost seamlessly on jobs, starting Michael and Jeremy's brute force tactics and adding in Ray's long shots and Ryan's organised chaos, then Jack with the escape and Geoff as backup, caught between helping with cops and keeping Gavin covered where he's working the alarms and the police radios, scrambling signals and sending them to the wrong side of the city.

They hit the front pages and swiftly climb the ranks of Los Santos' most wanted list – Jeremy is almost offended that Michael gets the spot above him – and Geoff and Jack start dipping their hands into business, pulling a few strings here and there to cement Fake AH into a corner of Los Santos.

And Ray's not going to lie, with the names they've got in their crew – _Ramsey_ , _Pattillo_ , _Mogar_ , _BrownMan_ , _Doolz_ , _Vav_ , _Mad King_ – they've got a pretty solid corner.

–-

Ray gets pinned down during a fight that broke out after a drug deal went bad and now he's straining against the gun threatening to slam down on his throat, pushing uselessly against the guy's strong grip. The guy's weight pins the rest of his body down and Ray's gun spun out of his hand when he was knocked to the ground and it's fucking miles away now. The gun shoves down a little more and the metal touches Ray's skin – he grunts and ignores his shaking arms as he pushes back.

There's a flicker of movement to his right and suddenly the guy's violently pushed off of him with a hard kick to the ribs – he crashes bodily to the ground beside Ray, shouting in surprise, and Ray goes limp with the relief, staring up at the ceiling for a second to collect himself. There's a gunshot and then Ryan's holding out a hand to him – Ray grasps it and Ryan grunts as he pulls Ray up, pressing a pistol – _Ray's_ pistol – into his other hand.

“You good?” Ryan asks with what sounds like a smile – Ray can't see it under the mask but he knows.

“Yeah. Thanks,” Ray says, glancing over at the other guys Ryan was fighting while Ray was struggling beneath just one. They're dead or unconscious – knowing Ryan, probably the former – and the guy that was on top of Ray has a messy hole in his chest now.

“No problem.” Ryan spins the knife in his other hand and wipes it carelessly on his jeans, looking every part the badass motherfucker the stories tell of.

Ryan steps closer to Ray and tugs off one glove to catch his chin with his fingers, swiping one thumb over the trail of blood leaking from Ray's lip. Ray grins, encouraging the sting, and Ryan drops his hand to slide his glove back on. The building shakes above them with a muffled explosion, dust falling down on top of them and Ryan looks up as he sheathes his knife.

“Wanna go?” He asks, and Ray nods, tucking his pistol into his jeans as Ryan backs up to turn to the stairs.

They leave the stench of blood and gunpowder in the basement as they barrel up the stairs, bursting into the main room of the warehouse where the deal went down and where the rest are still fighting. There's a wide blood smear on the table beside the dirty briefcase – Ray snags it on the way and pulls out his pistol as Ryan kicks another guy down. Michael and Jeremy are back-to-back in the middle of the room, alternately shooting and punching as Geoff bends a guy's wrist backwards and slams him against the table.

Michael yells something and pulls a grenade pin out with his teeth and tosses it – the boom is loud and jarring and as the smoke fills the room Ray slips out of the side door with the briefcase, leaving Ryan in the fight as he winds through alleyways to find the escape car.

Jack pops the door open for him and Ray collapses into the passenger seat panting, wiping his mouth and shoving the briefcase into the backseat as Jack starts driving. He'll put them in the parking garage opposite the warehouse so Ray can shoot from there – Ray picks up the rifle in the footwell and starts checking attachments as Jack swerves past traffic lights.

–-

Ryan snaps a guy's arm clean in half and jams a knife into another's chest a moment later, yanking it out as the guy drops his gun and slumps to the ground with a faint look of surprise on his face. He glances over to see Michael fending off a guy with his gun, holding it out horizontal and keeping the guy back before he raises a foot and kicks him square in the chest, sending him skidding across the ground. Jeremy switches out his shotgun for fists, sliding on brass knuckles as he separates from Michael to start getting personal.

Geoff snatches an SMG and someone punches Ryan across the jaw – he rams his knee up into the guy's crotch and winces at the crunch he hears as the guy groans and drops. There's only two left, one big and burly and the other trying to reload a clearly jammed shotgun. Geoff starts towards the reloading one just as Ryan slips out a knife and tosses it easily – Geoff freezes as it sinks into the guy's shoulder and blood starts spraying everywhere. Geoff nods slightly and gives Ryan a quick salute.

Jeremy goes for the burly dude and doesn't even get a punch in before Michael guns him down, nailing him right in the ribs with a cluster of bullets. Jeremy sighs and his shoulders slump as he turns back to Michael.

“Hey, hey guys,” Geoff says, audible over the comms and in the air.

“Yeah, Geoff?” Michael shouts, unnecessarily loud in the sudden quiet. Ryan laughs quietly and Jeremy snickers. Sirens rise in the distance. Geoff smiles a little dopily under his half-mask.

“Let's retreat,” he says, and Michael and Jeremy whoop loudly.

–-

The checkered flag ruffles in the slight breezes that ripples across the street, bringing with it the noise of the bar and the chatter of punters and bookies alike as they settle bets and trade cash. Behind Ray and to his right is Michael on that big red bike, freshly waxed so the _Jones_ gleams in the streetlight. He's chatting happily to Gavin behind Ray, their laughter also carrying in the wind.

Further back because he _badly_ lost the previous race is Jeremy, proudly straddling his purple-orange monstrosity and making obscure bets with Alice – she's got matte black racing stripes on her bike now, subtle and clean against the blue.

And next to Ray, as usual, is Ryan. Ray eyes the _Vagabond_ and leans in slightly to talk over the background noise.

“Hey, Vaga-dude,” He says. Ryan raises an eyebrow and rests his elbows on the helmet sitting between his legs, wrists crossed right over the skull.

“Yeah?”

Ray grins and shrugs. “What you doin' Friday?”

“Uh, nothing, I think, why?” Ryan's eyebrows furrow slightly as his mouth twists. Gavin suddenly squeaks with laughter behind them at something Michael says.

“Wanna go to dinner or something?”

The beginnings of a smirk tip up the corners of Ryan's mouth.

“Why, Ray Narvaez Jr., are you asking me on a date?” He asks.

“Maybe I am,” Ray replies.

Ryan 'hm's and looks out at the road in front of them.

“Well, I _know_ I'm doing nothing Friday,” he says, smiling slyly.

“Then I'm definitely asking.”

“I'm maybe saying yes.”

“Okay, fuck you,” Ray says, laughing at Ryan's little chuckle.

“Ready?!” Someone shouts, and Ray and the rest of the racers scramble to get their helmets on and kick stands up – Ryan deliberately revs his engine and looks at Ray and Ray flips him off.

“Two!”

Gavin's engine cuts out behind Ray.

“One!”

Gavin swears loudly.

“Go!”

The checkered flag swings down and they're off, engines transmuting into a loud crush of rumbling that echoes around the street and bounces off buildings and only amplifies as people try to turbo around the first corner. Ray kicks into a higher gear and white bike slides right past to catch on the curb, bucked off by the force of the crash.

Green and black skid into each other in front of Ray and he tanks a hard right to swerve around it – Jeremy ends up right in it and Ray grins as the race starts to thin out. He hunches down and tucks in tight to Ryan, slipping into the inside curve of the next turn and revving loudly as he passes. Behind him Alice pulls a wheelie and edges past Michael.

The next straightaway means Ryan races ahead of Ray but Ray catches up on the last two corners, weaving through some other bikes and gunning the turbo through the final stretch, getting second to Matt but still in front of Ryan, who got beat down to fourth by a new bright pink bike.

Ray brakes hard and eases to the side of the road, tugging off his helmet as Ryan coasts in beside him. Ryan frowns as he hooks his helmet onto his handlebars – Ray follows his gaze to the pink bike, whose rider is just dismounting. They pull off their helmet and a wave of purple tumbles down with it.

“Who's she?” Ray asks, watching as she unzips her hoodie to reveal a tight tank top.

“Don't know,” Ryan says, cocking his head as he scrutinises her. The chrome writing stamped boldly on the side reads _Dollface_.

Dollface catches them looking at her and winks as she flips her hair over her shoulder, turning to walk towards the bar with a sway in her hips Ray can't tell is natural or for show.

“They don't lie,” Ray says, and Ryan laughs, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“That's one word for it,” he replies.

\--

After races they cram into that same booth at the back, with Gavin sandwiched between Michael and Jeremy and too many drinks crowded on the small table, except now instead of just Michael/Gavin/Jeremy/Ray it's them and Ryan and Geoff/Jack/Lindsay dropping by every few minutes to briefly join in the conversation or, in Geoff's frequent case, start a new argument and leave.

Today is a Saturday, which means the bar is packed and loud and for once they're almost drowned out by other people. Ray's ribs ache from laughter and Michael can't breathe, wheezing pathetically as Jeremy continues his story – with occasional interjections from Gavin about certain details – and Jack comes by with a new round and a bad joke about Jeremy's new hair colour. There is way too much alcohol out considering they have a crew meeting at nine in the morning tomorrow with a “special guest”, as Geoff puts it, but hey. They're Fake AH.

The table's pretty fucking great tonight, especially when Lindsay pops up next to Ryan and flips dark red hair over her shoulder as she asks an almost nonsense hypothetical question that Gavin latches onto _immediately_. Ryan tries to ask serious questions and Geoff replaces Lindsay just to leave when he starts a heated discussion between Ray and Gavin about something pointless.

And later Ray takes Ryan out back and makes a mess all over the side of Ryan's bike as Ryan bites hickeys into his neck because he's got a little possessive streak like that. Kinky motherfucker. Ray loves it.

–-

In the morning everyone's a little hungover but not enough to stop them talking – Gavin's trying to convince Jeremy to do something ridiculous while Jack and Ryan try to plan a video game night. Ray sticks with talking to Michael, who's no quieter for being slightly hungover.

The general chatter in the meeting room falls away as the door opens and a woman with bright pink hair walks in with a stack of files – _their_ files, Ray realises – in one hand and a paper coffee cup in the other. A pair of big, round sunglasses obscures most of her face and her deceptively nonchalant T-shirt-and-jeans outfit gives nothing away.

“What's up bitches?” she says as she plops down the folders and _everyone_ swivels to face her – Gavin nearly tips over his chair while spinning and Jeremy slams his hands on the table.

“There's no _way_ that's Lindsay,” Michael says, leaning in. “There is no _fucking_ way.”

The woman smirks and pushes her sunglasses on top of her head and -

“ _What the fuck, Geoff?!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Want to help me out _and_ get your own fic? I've got [commissions](https://redvsvblue.tumblr.com/post/163213021377/fic-commissions)! (Link goes to my tumblr commission post.)


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